


A Wolf in the Fold

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bestiality, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Native American Character(s), Native American Mythology - Freeform, Shapeshifting, Werewolves, is it really bestiality if one of them is a shapeshifter?, montana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brush rattled and Clint came to a halt, listening for any sounds from the missing teens. The normal nighttime rustles of leaves and insects were all he heard. Two more steps in the direction he was heading and the wolf slunk out of the shadows to block his way. A beautiful silver and black timberwolf, the largest Clint had seen, sat on its haunches and tilted its head as it looked Clint over with big blue eyes.</p><p>“Okay,” Clint said. He slowly stepped back, keeping careful watch on the animal. “I’m no danger to you. Just head on off on your wolfy way.” </p><p>The wolf yipped and shook its head as if disagreeing with Clint. </p><p>A growl issued from the wolf’s throat; Clint frozen as moonlight reflected off those eyes that saw everything. The wolf walked back until Clint could see the grey tips of its ears flick forward and back. With a quick bark, it turned and loped South, pausing to look back at Clint. </p><p>“I must be fucking crazy,” Clint mumbled to himself. “This isn’t an episode of Lassie; Timmy’s not down the well.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amireal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/gifts), [infiniteeight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/gifts).



> For those of you who follow me over on tumblr (cakeisnotpie.tumblr.com), you'll know that I started a story that's taken over my brain. This started life as a conversation with the wonderful amireal and infiniteeight about a one scene plot bunny; it's grown into a much longer story that may or may not become the basis for a novel eventually. The concept has really grabbed me by the balls and I'm running with it. Hope you enjoy the ride.

Clint rolled to a stop behind the Subaru, careful to keep his tires out of the muddy ruts off the edge of the road. The spring rains had left the ground saturated; brown earth caked the wheel wells of all the cars, but soon the mountains would be green again. Clint was looking forward to putting on his hiking boots and getting out on the trail.

 

“Need some help?” he asked as he stepped out of his battered jeep. “Looks like you’ve got car trouble.”

 

The man under the hood paused and looked around at Clint. Blue eyes shone behind dark frames, crinkles at the corner as the man smiled. Dark hair, neatly trimmed, the man wore a khaki jacket over a blue sweater, his white dress shirt and Captain America tie showing in the v-neck.

 

“I think it’s beyond help.” His voice held a hint of laughter around the edges. “Mack’s been telling me it’s time to get a new car but I thought I’d get one more summer out of her.” He wiped his hand on an Armorall wipe and held it out.  “You must be the new Sheriff. I’m Phil Coulson, principal at the high school.”

 

“Clint Barton.” He took the offered hand. Phil’s grip was strong, firm fingers wrapping around Clint’s without hesitation. “Why don’t I give you a ride back into town?”

 

Phil shut the hood, reached into the passenger seat and grabbed his briefcase before he climbed into Clint’s jeep. “Good thing you came along. Those clouds mean more rain’s coming; saved me from a soaking.”

 

“I’m learning the roads,” Clint admitted. “Darcy gave me a map with all the local names on it; only gotten lost once and GPS got me back to the main road.”

 

“When do you officially start?” Phil asked as they pulled out. “Joe’s retirement party is this Saturday; I think the whole town will be there.”

 

“Technically, Joe’s still on the job until Monday morning. Gives me time to get to know the lay of the land and start finding a more permanent place to live. Derek Bishop is letting me use one of his apartments above the hardware store, but I like a little more land and some trees.” Clint glanced sideways at the other man, noting the open and easy look on Phil’s face. “Steve’s got a line on a few possibilities; we’re heading out to look tomorrow.”

 

“That’s right, you know Steve and Bucky from the army. I remember hearing that at the Town Council meeting when they announced your hire. Remind Steve about Pym’s cabin; Hank hasn’t been back since the divorce was finalized, and I bet he’d be willing to sell for a good price. Great location, not far from town, but right on the edge of Bitterroot. Views of the mountains and within a day hike of Bass Creek.Two bedrooms space with all the modern conveniences including a satellite dish and power generator. Hank liked his gadgets.” Phil smiled over at Clint. “I’ve halfway thought about buying it; I live in that big monstrosity on the corner of Ash and Main. Been in the Coulson family for generations, but now it’s just me rattling around, trying to keep up with all the fixing that needs to be done. Keep joking that I’m going to buy a cabin and move out into the woods to avoid running into all my students when I go jogging.”

 

“The yellow victorian?” Clint had driven by there just a few hours earlier. “I bet there’s a story behind that grand old lady.”

 

“My Great Grandfather was the first School Superintendent in 1887. Wasn’t more than an elementary school and a one floor academy then, but he saw it as a way to make his mark on the world. Went back East to school and  met my Great Grandmother; Hester was from Charleston, South Carolina and wouldn’t move out here until Edward built her a proper home. Rumor goes that Edward ordered the stained glass all the way from Cleveland and had it delivered into Butte by train.” Phil warmed to his story, his mouth lifting in a wry grin. “Of course, Hester hated the house -- it wasn’t warm enough in the winter and the roof leaked and he had to add a mudroom. Must not have been too bad because they had four kids who lived to adulthood. And a Coulson’s been in residence in the house ever since.”

 

Clint turned onto route 93, maneuvering off the two lane road onto the bigger one. Listening to Phil was interesting. “So you’re following the family tradition of education?”

 

“After a brief detour with the military. I was in the Rangers for six years. Went in thinking I’d make a career of it, but I soon learned differently. I’m much better suited for disciplining unruly teenagers, it seems,” Phil answered with a shrug.

 

“I understand that.” Clint’s time in the army had taught him many things including what he did and didn’t want out of life. “Civilian life looks a lot different after you’ve seen one too many IEDs and kids with rifles.”

 

“You and Bucky were in the same unit?” Phil asked although he probably already knew the answer.

 

“For awhile. I’m glad Buck’s doing better; Steve says he’s found a good therapist and that the mountains help. He’s talking about getting a service dog.” Clint came to a stop at the first intersection, the one by the tiny strip mall on the edge of town. A pharmacy, auto parts store, nail salon, Radio Shack, and Sears catalog order center were tucked together next to a Chinese take out place and Big Ed’s Pizza Parlor.

 

“They got one of Thor’s latest litter, a collie/husky mix. Great companions and easily trained. Cute thing, black and white with big blue eyes. Bucky likes to pretend he’s not completely smitten, but he carries the thing around in his pocket.”

 

Clint barely registered the words, too caught up in the way Phil’s hand settled on the back of the seat, casually hanging not far from Clint’s shoulder.

 

“Take a right here on Second Street and cut in the alley behind the shop. Mack will be working out of the back this time of day,” Phil directed. Clint brought his attention back to the road and soon they were pulling up to the open doors of the local auto shop.

 

A tall black man unfolded himself from where he was working on a Heritage Softail Harley. His white tank top revealed muscular arms, and Clint couldn’t help but admire the man’s physique. A little too developed for his tastes, but Mack was handsome and easy on the eyes.

 

Wiping his greasy hand on a rag, Mack grinned at them as Phil climbed out of the Jeep. “Let me guess. Betsy’s dead beside the road somewhere.”

 

“Go ahead and say it,” Phil replied, walking over to Mack and taking his outstretched hand. “I guess it’s time. Can you get it running so I can trade it in?”

 

“Bud’ll take it for parts,” Mack said, glancing over at Clint with curiosity. “Probably give you more than the dealer.”

 

Taking the look as his cue, Clint offered his hand. “Clint Barton. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Ah, the new sheriff.” Mack’s grip was firm. “Nice upkeep on that Jeep. That model will keep going if you treat her right.”

 

“She’s a work horse, that’s for sure,” Clint agreed. “Nice bike you’re working on. I’ve got a Triumph Bonneville; tinker around on her when I have the time. Be good to have somewhere to get parts.”

 

“Ah, that’s a sweet ride. You’ll have to bring it by and let me check her out,” Mack said. “Good to know the new guy has taste when it comes to transportation. Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t treat their cars well.”

 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” Clint said, feeling awkward. “Nice to meet you both.”

 

Phil made a grab at his arm, catching his wrist as he turned to go. “Hey, thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it. Would have been a long walk back.”

 

The touch made Clint shiver; warm fingers laced around his wrist, thumb pad right over Clint’s pulse point. “Yeah, no problem. Glad I could help.”

 

Mack’s eyebrows rose, the smooth skin of his head wrinkling as he bit back a smile. “Bring that bike by anytime,” he added.

 

“Sure.” Clint didn’t know what else to say; the moment drew to a close and Phil dropped his hand. “See ya’ around.”

 

Wouldn’t be hard to run into Phil again in a town this size, but Clint had a new job and an impression to make. Last thing he needed was to fall into a new relationship and muck things up before he even started.

 

~_~

 

“Glad you could make it, Barton.” Joe Donovan, outgoing Sheriff of Ravalli County, Montana, slapped Clint on the back as he got out of Steve’s Ford Explorer. “Sorry to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night, but with Jasper, Alan, and Nick in Canada on that fishing trip, we’re short the manpower to mount a search.”

 

Bucky’s extra strong coffee poured straight from the thermos into the cap had gone a long way to waking Clint up. Good thing he was used to getting calls and rolling out of bed; he always slept with his boots and pants ready to go, just in case.

 

“I don’t mind,” Clint told the older man. “Done a few search and rescues, so I know what we’re doing. Got my GPS and satellite phone in the pack.”

 

“Good man,” Joe said, guiding Clint over to where the others were gathered around Bear Creek #5  trailhead, their cars filling the small long term parking lot. “Let me introduce you to the crew.”

 

“Hey, Clint,” Phil said as they approached. He curled his hands around a plastic cup, sipping the steaming liquid. “Nice to see you again.”

 

Dark skin circled under Phil’s eyes, but he was awake. Clint didn’t intend to run into the man quite so soon, but then he hadn’t expected to get called out to hunt down some lost kids either.

 

“Phil,” Clint replied with a smile and nod of his head. “If you want something to get your blood flowing, try Buck’s brew. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

 

“Oh, God, you drank some of that?” Phil laughed. “You must be truly desperate.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky complained, but his lips twitched up at the edges.

 

“Everyone, this is Clint Barton, soon to carry the mantle of Sheriff as soon as I can get my ass out of the job,” Joe said. Everyone grinned at his joke. “You already know Melinda.” Joe nodded to the dark haired woman who was a Deputy Sheriff. “This is Mack,” Joe continued.

 

“We’ve met,” Clint said. “I gave Phil a ride to Mack’s earlier today.”

 

“Betsy gave up the ghost,” Phil added.

 

“Aw, sorry Phil,” the shorter dark skinned man said. “That’s too bad.” He offered his hand to Clint. “I’m Sam Wilson. I work at the hospital.”

 

“I’ve heard good things about you,” Clint said, taking the firm grip. Sam was Bucky’s therapist, the one who making a difference.

 

“Leo Fitz,” the young man next to Sam said. His curly hair was closely cropped to his head and he looked no more than twenty. “Jemma and I teach at the high school; she’s biology and I’m physics and engineering.”

 

“Hello,” Jemma said with a lovely british accent. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she looked even younger. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Thor’s in Butte but where’s Ward?” Steve asked.

 

“I left messages for him but we can’t wait. One of the kids is Kate Bishop,” Joe said.

 

“Aw, hell,” Bucky murmured. “Derek’s going to raise hell when he finds out.”

 

Derek Bishop practically owned all of the town; one of his ancestors had founded the place and, as he liked to brag, there’d been a Bishop on the Town Council ever since. The wealth of generations of successful business men made Derek prone to arrogance; it was an open secret that his latest young wife had a love/hate relationship with her step daughter, Kate..

 

“Right. Let’s get on it then.” Joe walked over to the hood of his truck where a map of the area was spread out and held down by stones. “According to Tommy and Eli, the six of them left about four yesterday to do some riding in the park. The dingalings left the trail somewhere around here …” he circled a spot with a red grease pencil “... and rode until six when they stopped for dinner.” Joe glared over at the two teenage boys who stood shivering in the cool night air. “Beer made an appearance and sometime later they decided to race each other back to the parking lot. In the dark. Taking separate trails.” The boys fidgeted as everyone turned to look at them. “Tommy and Eli got here, waited two hours, but the others never showed. We have to assume that they either got lost or something happened. We’re looking for Kate, her friend Cassie Long, and Billy Kaplan and Teddy Altman.”

 

“Billy and Teddy. A package deal,” Jemma said. “Of course they’re together.”

 

“We’ll hike into where they left the trail and fan out in a standard search pattern. Tommy said they headed Northwest, so that narrows the search zone.” Joe passed out long range walkie talkies. “Steve, I want you on the left flank, Buck on the right …”

 

Walking took longer than riding in would, but even with the full moon casting illumination on the trail, dangers lurked in the dark. Flashlights lit the uneven ground as Clint began his sweep, moving deliberately in his assigned direction. He thumbed the walkie talkie at the assigned intervals, checking in with the others. Odds were, the kids were hunkered down to wait for the morning. Phil had assured him that all four were experienced hikers who knew what to do if lost or in trouble. Wandering aimlessly was the worst option; staying in one place made it easier for a search to find them. .

 

The brush rattled and Clint came to a halt, listening for any sounds from the missing teens. The normal nighttime rustles of leaves and insects were all he heard. Two more steps in the direction he was heading and the wolf slunk out of the shadows to block his way. A beautiful silver and black timberwolf, the largest Clint had seen, sat on its haunches and tilted its head as it looked Clint over with big blue eyes.

 

“Okay,” Clint said. He slowly stepped back, keeping careful watch on the animal. “I’m no danger to you. Just head on off on your wolfy way.”

 

The wolf yipped and shook its head as if disagreeing with Clint.

 

“Right. Don’t move. That would be too easy.” Clint maintained eye contact with the animal and waved his hands as he spoke forcefully. “Shoo. Go on. Get out of here.”

 

Clint could swear the wolf squinted then it paced three steps to the South, paused, and yipped again.

 

“That’s it. Off you go. Scram.” Clint walked forward in his original direction.

 

A growl issued from the wolf’s throat; Clint frozen as moonlight reflected off those eyes that saw everything. The wolf walked back until Clint could see the grey tips of its ears flick forward and back. With a quick bark, it turned and loped South, pausing to look back at Clint.

 

“I must be fucking crazy,” Clint mumbled to himself. “This isn’t an episode of Lassie; Timmy’s not down the well.”

 

The damn thing snorted and wagged its head; Clint thought it was laughing at him but that would be crazy. Padding forward, pausing, the wolf returned back and started again, giving Clint a loud woof.

 

“Oh, hell, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” Clint sighed. “I must have fallen asleep on the trail somewhere.”

 

He marked the nearest tree before he changed direction and headed after the wolf, carrying on an internal argument with himself. This was a stupid thing to do, but maybe this wasn’t a wild wolf. He’d heard of wolf hybrids that people kept as pets; some research teams used animals like that. Could be a domesticated dog. And Clint was grasping at straws if he believed that.

 

Just thirty feet south, the wolf paused, nosing around a copse of mountain snowberry, pawing at the ground. Shining his light at the spot, Clint parted the branches and saw a steep drop on the other side. Not deep enough to be a ravine, the gully was probably a long dried out stream bed that wormed its way through a cleft in the mountains, leaving behind a meandering trail buried between the land. There was no way Clint would have seen it if he’d kept on his original course.

 

A cold nose touched his arm; the wolf nudged him gently to the left, making its way to an almost indistinguishable animal path that ran down a navigable slope. Skittering down the grade, the wolf stopped at the bottom, sat back and howled, it’s voice rising up towards the moon and echoing down the gully.

 

“That’ll make them feel safe,” Clint said to the dog -- he’d decided it had to be a wolf hybrid with serious obedience training. “Howl at them so they think wolves are closing in.Good job.”

 

The wolf raised one eyebrow -- seriously, Clint saw it -- tilted its head and wrinkled it’s nose. Then it sneezed once and twice and started trotting into the gully, head held high, ignoring Clint completely.

 

“Dissed by a dog,” Clint mumbled. “Maybe I’m turning into one of the mountain men. Going to grow my beard out long like Grizzly Adams.”  

 

Freezing in place, the wolf’s ears twitched, it’s tail standing at attention. Almost muffled behind the rustling of the wind, Clint heard a metallic sound, a series of quick pings, fast staccato and then slower. One, two, three … he scrambled to grab the walkie off his belt, pushing the send button before he spoke.

 

“Hey, Joe, I might be onto something. There’s a gully or ravine here, not that wide, hidden by the foliage. I think I hear an SOS. Very faint, but if they stumbled in here they could be hurt. I’m going in to check it out. Here’s my position.” He sent the GPS coordinates before he tucked the unit back and followed the beam of his light past the still wolf and into the gully.

 

Slowly the rock rose around him until it passed his head, leaving him feeling hemmed in. The path was wide enough for a single person, but two couldn’t have walked abreast. Occasionally, the walls would widen out and moonlight would filter in, but mostly the way was dark except for his flashlight.

 

He heard it again -- ping, ping, ping, bang, bang, bang, ping, ping, ping -- and he shouted, “Hello? Anybody here? Can you hear me?” A distant muffled reply, high pitched, a girl’s voice; Clint couldn’t make out what she said, so he called back “I’m on my way. Hold on.”

 

Ten more minutes and he could hear her more clearly. “Hey! We’re down here!”

 

Turning a curve, he saw them, his light flashing off of the crumpled metal of an ATV; the gully was wider here, enough for the machine to tumble down in the dark. Waving her hands was a tall, slim girl with long dark hair, her face pale and eyes wide in the artifical light.

 

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been keeping her warm but she’s shaking and I think she has a fever. I didn’t know what else to do,” the girl said. “Did Tommy and Eli make it out?”

 

“They called the sheriff when you didn’t show up. You must be Kate Bishop.” She had the spitting image of her father’s eyes. “I’m Clint Barton and we’re going to get you out of here. Where are the others?”

 

Kate hiccuped, tracks of dried tears on her face. “Billy and Teddy flipped their ATV about twenty minutes back; Billy twisted his ankle bad and Teddy wouldn’t leave him, so Cassie and I went on to get help. Didn’t do a very good job of it.”

 

Squatting down by the blonde haired girl wrapped in both of their coats, Clint noticed the carefully built splint made of two sticks of wood and what looked like a purple scarf. “Looks like you took good care of your friend, I’d say.”

 

He made the call. “Joe, I’ve got Kate Bishop and Cassie Lang. ATV fell into the gully; Lang’s got what looks like a fairly clean break of the fibula and an elevated temperature. Bishop’s cold and dehydrated but they’ll be okay once we get them out of here. The other two are not far from here; I’ll see if Kate can give us …”

 

“45.789 and negative 114.476,” Kate reeled off. “I memorized the GPS before we left.”

 

Clint grinned; he liked the girl. Self-sufficient and able to handle herself in a crisis. “You get that? Yeah, I agree. I’ve got them covered until they get here.”

 

“You’re going to be the new sheriff, aren’t you?” Kate asked, shivering. Clint rummaged in his pack and pulled out a mylar thin blanket, handing it over to her. “Any way you could not tell my Dad about this?”

 

“Don’t pull those puppy dog eyes on me,” Clint said, passing over a bottle of water as well before taking out a second blanket for Cassie. “Too many people know; you’ll have to take your lumps. But I would get rid of the beer cans for plausible deniability.”

 

“I didn’t even drink one,” she admitted, sinking down beside her friend. “But he’ll never believe me.”

 

He felt sorry for the kid; from what he’d encountered of Derek Bishop, he wasn’t the forgiving type. “Hey, at least it’s too late for a breathalyzer test. Look, you stayed with your friend and took good care of her. That’s pretty heroic, if you ask me.”

 

“Yeah, well, he won’t see it that way.”

 

~+~

 

“Okay, okay, she’s cute,” Clint admitted as the puppy wiggled over his lap and tumbled between the front seats of Steve’s SUV.  Rolling onto her back, the puppy waved her legs and turned her big blue eyes up at Bucky in the back seat. Clint watched the hard ass sniper with nerves of steel melt at the look, scooping up the pup and plopping her on his lap. “Not sure about her tastes though if she likes Barnes.”

 

“You’re just jealous,” Bucky said, tickling the puppy with his good hand. “She loves me. Don’t you, baby girl?”

 

It was good to see the pleasure in Bucky’s eyes and he played with the puppy. Still, Clint wasn’t going to give in that easily. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t know you yet. Let her get a good whiff of you and we’ll see.”

 

A familiar game, Bucky and Clint had spent hours waiting for the shot sending zingers back and forth. He smiled, a genuine emotion, and Clint knew he’d made the right choice taking this job. It’s never easy to up and move, but if he helped Bucky in his recovery then it was worth it. Plus, it was nice to have a built in group of friends in a new town.

 

“Don’t listen to him, Peg. He’s a mean man,” Bucky practically cooed at the dog, holding her up to his face. The puppy put a paw on Bucky’s nose. “You’re the best dog ever.”

 

“You going to train her?” Clint asked. “Between the husky and collie, she’d be a good search dog. Like the one I saw last night.”

 

“Dog? What dog?” Steve asked, turning off the road onto a gravel driveway. The car rocked a little as the shocks took most of the bumps of the two lane track.

 

“Some sort of wolf hybrid. Handsome animal. Caught the scent and led me to the gully,” Clint told them. He didn’t miss the look the two of them exchanged. “What?”

 

“Could be one of Thor’s wolfhounds,” Bucky suggested. “The pair are smarter than most people, especially Wade down at the hardware store.”

 

“Nah,” Clint said. “Not a wolfhound; a wolf mixed with something else. Hell, anybody around here raise wolves? I know it’s illegal, but people do it.”

 

The car turned the curve and the perfect cabin appeared before them. Light pine clapboards on the top and river rock on the bottom, the main section was two stories tall, smooth wooden columns rising up to a graceful curve over two covered porches. Large glass windows reflected the afternoon sun. The driveway circled around to a set of two doors in an attached garage; Steve pulled onto the concrete slab and parked.

 

“I’ve never been inside,” Steve said as they all got out of the car. “Buck and I are still newcomers around here and Hank’s pretty introverted..”

 

“Are you sure I can afford this?” Clint asked, stopping to peer into one of first floor windows; he could see a tiled entryway and a river stone fireplace. “I’m on a government salary.”

 

“I talked to Maria to get the keys; she says Hank’ll take any reasonable offer. Plus, it’s only two bedrooms. Most of the newcomers want bigger McMansions to show their wealth.”

 

Steve opened the solid wood front door and they entered the house. The slate tiles were grey and copper like the mountains around them; in front of them, one big living room, dining room and kitchen spread out with few walls to break the line of sight and the magnificent views of the mountains outside. Just beyond the kitchen island, the ceiling soared all the way to the vaulted beams that held up the roof. A large stone fireplace filled the back wall with french doors on either side leading to a deck that sprouted from the back of the house and terraced up twice to the edge of the tree line. Fans hung down on long poles, lazily spinning as Bucky started flipping light switches.

 

“Wow. Look, Steve, granite counter tops and a gas stove. Place might be small but it’s done right.” He plopped down on the chocolate leather sectional and picked up the remote. At the push of a button, a cabinet opened and a big screen TV clicked on. “Damn. He’s got satellite. We can watch the Giants.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes at Clint as they continued to explore, leaving Bucky to channel surf. They found a small guest room and a full bath beyond the kitchen and checked out the back deck before they headed up the stairs to the loft. The vaulted ceiling made the space look bigger than it was.  A king sized four poster king size bed filled the center; french doors opened onto the front deck with an amazing view of the mountains and, much to Clint’s delight, a four person hot tub. A big walk in closet, and a bathroom with a tub under windows that let Clint see Bitterroot forest as he soaked. An extra big rainfall shower, double vanities … Clint could get used to living like this..

 

“There’s a bonus room over the garage,” Steve said as they came down the stairs. “Hank never finished it off, but it would make a good office space. And there’s an outbuilding for storing snowmobiles, atvs, boats, etc. I think Hank used it as a lab so it’s got power and heating.”

 

“It’s a great place,” Clint said, standing at the balcony railing and staring down at the great room.

 

Steve looked at Bucky, stretched out on the couch with Peggy on his chest as he watched ESPN. “Honestly, Clint, the whole town would be glad to have you buy this place. First, it would mean you’re committed to staying and second, we’d rather see you living here than it become one of those touristy rental places that Bishop is always pushing.”

 

“Why don’t you two buy it? It’d be a good place for a dog.” Clint could imagine himself with a Heinz 57 mutt from the pound. He liked that idea.

 

“We’ve got our eye on a lot just a few miles from here. Going to build a cabin; seems you can order a kit and we can do a lot of the work ourselves,” Steve said. “We’d practically be neighbors in Montana measurements.”

 

“Stevie wants to play mountain man,” Bucky interjected. “Hew his own logs and build a house from the ground up.”

 

“Yeah, you want to get away from all the attention in town,” Steve shot back then turned to Clint. “Darcy has a thing for him, always bringing him food.”

 

“I like the food,” Bucky groused, “but if I take it she’ll think I’m interested. Not that she’s not a nice kid and all, but, yeah, not my type.”

 

Clint bit his lip to stop the question on the tip of his tongue from popping out. He knew Bucky swung both ways and that his one big regret was Steve Rogers. It had been a relief to realize Clint wasn’t the only soldier in his platoon who was into guys; don’t ask, don’t tell was a hell of a thing to live with. But Steve had always seemed oblivious of Bucky’s unrequited torch the size of Mount St. Helen’s.

 

“So what do you say?” Steve asked. “Want to go talk to Maria about this place?”

 

With one last look around, Clint knew that this would be a perfect spot to settle down. Sundays with Steve and Bucky and others watching the game. Snowy mornings spent watching the woods fill up with white. A view of the stars from the front porch.

 

“Yes. Let’s see if my pittance will stretch this far.”

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hand shot up from one of the brunettes in the back, Darcy Lewis, dispatch and all around secretary. He was going to have trouble telling her and Skye, the computer guru, apart; they were both young with long hair. “Is it true you’re dating Principal Coulson?”
> 
> “Alas, no,” Clint shook his head in mock sorrow. “I’m afraid I suck at relationships so I’ve sworn off of them for the time being.”
> 
> That earned him a full belly laugh from Trip. “You and me both, brother,” he agreed.

“Good to see that I backed the right man.” Derek Bishop had to raise his voice to be heard over the din in the packed room. “About time someone read the riot act to these kids. Bad influences, all of them.”

 

Clint put his elbows up and leaned back, adding some space between him and the older man. Bishop had just arrived at Joe’s retirement party, and he made a beeline through the people to speak to Clint. “I think they got a real scare; I suspect they’ll stay in line for awhile.”

 

“Joe was always too easy on the bunch of malcontents. I’ve grounded my Kate; no more running with that crowd for her.” Walter motioned to the redhead behind the bar; the woman raised an expressive eyebrow and ignored Bishop. “They need someone to keep an eye on them all.”

 

“That I will do,” Clint agreed. He took his job seriously; watching out for the teens of the town was soon to be Clint’s responsibility. Not the way Derek meant, of course; despite their lack of impulse control, Clint’s could tell they were good kids, each worried about the others.

 

“I certainly hope so.” Derek leaned forward and called to the bartender. “Romanova, how do you stay in business? I’m a paying customer, damnit.”

 

“Everyone’s a customer, Bish. Hold your horses.” The woman’s voice was rich with just a hint of accent. If Clint had swung that way, he’d definitely be interested. Simple black tank top fit snugly across her breasts, trim waist highlighted with a black leather belt through her jeans. Short curls framed her heart shaped face. But it was the way she moved, with purpose and grace wrapped up in power, that caught Clint’s attention. “The new sheriff here’s been waiting patiently; he’s first. What can I get you, Mr. Barton?”

 

“I’ll take a Doppleback in a bottle if you’ve got it,” Clint replied, grateful for the interruption. “And it’s Clint.”

 

“Natasha,” the bartender nodded as she opened the cooler and took out the colorful bottle, easily popping the top. “You’re looking at buying the Pym place, right?”

 

Well that didn’t take long; he’d just looked at the place two days ago. Of course, everyone in town knew. “Maybe. Great views, but probably out of my price range.”

 

“Kind of isolated out there.”  She put ice in a glass and poured a finger of Jim Beam for a guy down the bar. “I live down the road; gets really quiet out that way.”

 

“Just the way I like it.” Clint was looking for a new start and some distance would be perfect. “Tried the big city and I prefer seeing the stars at night.”

 

She nodded and looked right at him, her green eyes seeing right through him. “Well, if you move out my way, I might hit you up for a ride on bad weather days; I’ll trade you bowls of borscht.”

 

“Wow, Natasha’s offering you her special recipe? She must like you.” Phil leaned onto the bar and smiled, his cheeks slightly flushed from the heat and the alcohol that was flowing freely. “She’s a good judge of character.”

 

“You just say that because I don’t take shit from anyone,” the red head laughed and her eyes sparkled. “And I don’t dance to Bishop’s tune.”

 

“Natasha marches to her own drummer,” Phil told Clint. “That’s why we get along.”

 

Glancing at both of them in turn, Natasha waved at a party of three women at the other end of the bar. “It helps you’re not an asshole,” she said to Phil, winking at Clint. “Time to make some sex on the beach for Darcy and friends.”

 

Clint watched her walk away then he tracked to Phil’s face and he was caught in the blue depths of his eyes. As a rule, Clint didn’t believe in love at first sight or second or even third. With his track record, the last thing he needed was to start a relationship; as if a new job wasn’t enough, Clint was realizing that the politics of this small town were more complex than he’d first imagined. None of that stopped his heart from beating a little faster as Phil’s fingers grazed his forearm when he reached for the bowl of pretzels.

 

“So I take it Derek’s not up for father of the year,” Clint went for as an opener. “Kate didn’t seem like a bad kid. Impulsive but that’s the first word in the definition of a teenager.”

 

“See the honey blonde who looks like she should be on a runway in Milan? That’s wife number four. She’s three years older than Kate.” Phil nodded towards a woman standing in Jimmy Choo shoes and a mini black dress that hugged what few curves she had. Perfectly coiffed hair and makeup, even fake eyelashes. “Derek leaves her in charge of Kate when he goes out of town.”

 

“Bet that goes over well,” Clint said, sipping his beer.

 

“Understatement. It’s a shame, really. Kate’s mother was a beautiful woman inside and out. Damn cancer.” Phil sighed as he sipped his drink. “Believe it or not, I think Derek truly cared for her; he grieved when she died. And that’s enough town gossip for the evening. So, tell me. What’s your poison? Hiking? Skiing? Hunting? People who move here generally have a passion for the mountains.”

 

“Climbing or hiking, I love the view from the top of the mountain,” Clint answered. “Some ex-army buddies and I went to Yosemite for a week. We didn’t do Half Dome, but we had a good time on some of the other trails.”

 

“I know just the hike for you then,” Phil sate his drink down and leaned on the bar. “Almost vertical in a few places and pretty damn steep in others, but then it meanders along the ridge for a good two hours and you have the best view of the plateau and valley. Have to wait until the snow melt in May, but it’s worth it.”

 

“Sounds perfect.” It did. That was exactly what Clint was looking for.

 

“If you want, after school’s out, we could make a day of it, swing by Overwhich Falls and have lunch at the highest point.” Phil made eye contact as he asked, watching for Clint’s reaction. “Always have a hiking buddy, right?”

 

What Clint should do was clarify the question as in ‘are you gay and want a date or I’m just a nice guy offering to befriend the new guy in town.’  Things could get awkward fast if he didn’t. But, damnit, Phil had little crinkles around his eyes and he was smiling and Clint could see the hint of his collarbone in the unbuttoned vee of his casual plaid shirt.

 

“Sounds great. A native guide is welcome.” He found himself smiling in return.

 

Before he could think of the next salvo in their conversation, a loud voice behind them grabbed the whole room’s attention.

 

“I want to dance!” Bishop’s wife stomped her foot and shook off his hand. She headed for the jukebox and punched some numbers in. “You promised me a night out and you haven’t so much as spoken to me since we got here. You can damn well dance with me or there’ll be no dancing at home either.”

 

“Clarisse,” Derek spoke, his voice cast low. “Now is not the time nor place for this little fit. I’ve got business to attend to …”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Der. It’s a retirement party. There’s no one here who gives a rat’s ass about your pet project and dreams of grandeur. Have a drink and let the rest of us have some fun.” The opening riff of an AC/DC song blasted out in the room; Clarisse walked past Walter with a swing in her hips, heading for the small dance floor at the back of the bar. “I’m sure there’s any number of men who’ll dance with me if you’re too busy.”

 

“Now wait one minute. If you think I’m going to stand here and let you make a mockery of me …” Derek grabbed at her wrist, catching it and pulling her back towards him. Her pencil thin heel twisted and her ankle turned, throwing her sideways into a table. Half full drinks slid as she bumped the edge, righting herself on Steve’s shoulders. With a pop, pop, pop, the glasses hit the tile floor, exploding in burst of silvery shards. Bucky jerked back and a wild look came over his face as he startled, hand going rigid on the chair. His ragged breath was audible even above the din of the music, his pupils dilating as he stood, shaking from head to toe.

 

Clint was up and moving before the last glass shattered, dodging around others to get to Bucky’s side. Hampered by Clarisse’s hold, Steve was trying to free himself. Stopping out of arm’s reach, Clint said, “Buck? Hey, Bucky. Look at me, okay? It’s Lieutenant Barton. You know me.”

 

“Someone get Peggy,” Sam Wilson said. “And shut off the music.”

 

Bucky didn’t answer; he was close to hyperventilating, his eyes unfocused. Clint tried again. “Alright, Barnes. I need your report. What the sitrep?”

 

“I’m … it’s …” Bucky tried to answer, but couldn’t make a complete sentence.

 

The music died suddenly; Clint didn’t look around to see who had killed it. He kept his eyes trained on Bucky. “Sitrep, Barnes. Focus on my voice. Come back to me.”

 

“Situation … oh, fuck … Clint? What’s happening?” Bucky went from tense muscles to all over tremors as he began to come down. “I heard gunfire.”

 

“No guns, Buck,” Steve answered. He took the wiggling puppy Phil held out and stepped closer to Bucky. “Just some broken glass. Here. Peggy needs you, Buck. The sounds scared her.”

 

“Peg?” Barnes absently took the little dog, his hand immediately curling her close to his chest. The pink tongue swiped at Bucky’s chin and he looked down at her. “Silly dog.”

 

“We should take her home.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s arm, gently stroking in a rhythmic pattern. “She’s probably had enough of the party.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. His fingers never left her fur, scratching her behind her pert ears. “Might be too much for her. I’ll walk her back; you can stay here and hang out with everyone.”

 

“Nah, I’m pretty much done.” Steve shrugged, picking up his jacket. “We can head out.”

 

“Look, I don’t want you to go.” Bucky’s voice grew agitated. “And I don’t need a babysitter.”

 

“Buck,” Steve started but Clint interrupted.

 

“Hey, I’ve got to be up early in the morning, so I’m heading out anyway. First shift and all; got to make a good impression.” He smiled ruefully, giving a little shrug to Phil; so much for where that conversation was going. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

 

“Don’t need sympathy,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Excuse you, I’m angling for some time with the lovely little lady,” Clint swiped a hand along the line of Peggy’s spine. The pup wiggled and yipped at him. “I’ll put up with you to get it.”

 

It seemed to work; Steve sank back down into his chair and passed the leash over to Clint. Bucky didn’t bother with a coat, just pulling his hood up as they headed to the door. Conversations started flowing again, everyone acting like nothing had happened, no stares following their path. One of the best things about a small town; Bucky might be messed up but they’d taken him in as one of their own. Even Derek nodded to Clint then turned his eyes away, a glance of understanding.

 

They walked in silence for three blocks, Clint taking the inside, putting his body between Bucky and the darkness of the alleyways. He pretended not to notice the shakiness in Bucky’s steps  and he gently corralled the puppy when she sniffed into the shadows, keeping her in the light of the street lamps.  

 

Steve’s place was a little ranch down one of the side streets, half river rock and the top finished off with red brick, squat rectangular windows meeting at the corners in a traditional 1960s style. But Steve had put his stamp on it, the clean lines of adirondack chairs on the porch and an updated kitchen with grey granite and white cabinets.Small but enough for them, two bedrooms and a big screen TV. They paused in the yard, letting Peggy take care of her business before going inside.

 

“You passed your apartment,” Bucky said, standing at the door, key turning in the lock.

 

“I’m trying to steal Peg away from you,” Clint said, only halfway lying. The puppy was adorable. “I feel the bond growing already.”

 

“You’re full of shit, Barton.” Bucky grinned; Peggy darted in through the open door, her toe nails clicking on the wood flooring. “Go out to Thor’s and pick yourself a pup. He’s still got a few from the litter.”

 

“I just might, in fact.” He was glad to see Bucky’s smile; handling an episode was about riding the wave and bringing himself safely back to shore.

 

“Coming in?” Bucky held the door. “There’s beer in the fridge.”

 

Clint got the message; Bucky didn’t want to be alone. “Sure. I bet we can find a game to watch.”

 

* * *

 

Clint took a deep breath and let his eyes rove around the squad room where everyone was gathered. He made eye contact with each in turn as people settled into chairs or remained standing. His new crew -- and didn’t that scare him just a bit to think he was responsible for the lives and actions of these officers and staff. He’d been running this speech in his head for the last two weeks, while packing and loading and driving and learning the new town.

 

“I’d introduce myself, but I imagine you already know who I am, that I eat oatmeal at Moe’s for breakfast and have a thing for Bonnie’s chocolate coconut cupcakes at the bakery.” Clint paused; there was some chuckles and faint smiles. “I’m not much of a speech maker, so I’ll keep this short and to the point. First, I know that there were internal candidates for this job; from what I hear both of them are exceptionally qualified. Whatever decisions were made, I have every intention of giving this my best effort, and I hope we can all work together to protect the people of this county.”

 

He made eye contact with Melinda May, Deputy Sheriff I, and Grant Ward, Deputy Sheriff II. Both had applied and been summarily rejected by the town council which meant Bishop had put a kibosh on them. Clint had read both their files and either would have made a good sheriff, although he’d have given May an edge over Ward on basis of her experience.

 

“Second, Joe was a damn good sheriff and he ran a tight ship. Worst thing I could do is start making wholesale changes to the department. Instead, I’m going to take the time to learn how things work; I’ll be taking shifts with all of you -- foot patrols, park watch, search and research, dispatch, cybercrime -- to get to know the lay of the land. I want to know the drunk tank’s most frequent visitor, whose dog barks all night, the most dangerous stretch of road, and where the teens hang out on Friday nights.”

 

“I think you already know about park and spark,” a young African American man said with a big grin. Antoine Triplett, Clint knew from the files he’d gone through. A legacy, his grandfather had been a sheriff’s deputy fifty years ago. “Lots of fire pits and stashes in the forest.”

 

“Easy to tell a few scary stories, drink a few beers, and get lucky?” Clint grinned back. “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. Anyone have any questions?”

 

A hand shot up from one of the brunettes in the back, Darcy Lewis, dispatch and all around secretary. He was going to have trouble telling her and Skye, the computer guru, apart; they were both young with long hair. “Is it true you’re dating Principal Coulson?”

 

“Alas, no,” Clint shook his head in mock sorrow. “I’m afraid I suck at relationships so I’ve sworn off of them for the time being.”

 

That earned him a full belly laugh from Trip. “You and me both, brother,” he agreed.

 

“You served with Steve and his friend, right?” Alan Quartermane asked. In his late thirties, the blonde was on the husky side; he was built like the linebacker he was in his college years.

 

“I did. Two tours in Afghanistan.” He didn’t know if that made people more likely to trust him or not. “After, I joined the NYPD; I missed the mountains and the forests -- and Steve talked up the town -- so here I am.”

 

“Rogers has a pollyanna view; did he tell you about the snow?” Ward said, his first contribution to the conversation. “Lots of snow. Feet of snow. Ice dams. Negative degrees.”

 

“Did a rotation at Wainwright during training. I think I can handle it. Anyone else?” The others shook their head so Clint turned to the board behind him, filled with ongoing cases. “Alright then, let’s get to business. Trip, what’s the update on livestock losses out on Brambleton Road? Have you heard back from that wildlife biologist?”

 

They turned to case updates and planning for the annual Bitterroot Festival that drew large crowds for the music and crafts. The tourist season would be starting up in just a few weeks with the largest numbers in June, July, and August when all the trails were open in the park. That meant pickpockets and scammers moving in for easy pickings, lost and ill-prepared hikers, screaming tired kids, and traffic, traffic, traffic. With a large area to cover, there were no end of cases, from minor annoyances to theft. Enough to keep everyone busy and generate paperwork for Clint to tackle. As he dismissed the meeting, he nodded to Ward and May to hang back as he said, “Okay, let’s have a good day out there.”

 

The others scattered to their desks, the morning shift off to the cruisers in the parking lot. Clint waited for them to clear out before he spoke to the two remaining officers. Ward was a good looking fellow, tall and lean, dark hair and deep brown eyes. An easy smile and charming manner, Ward was the center of a number of glances from the computer whiz Skye and even a couple from Melinda May. May was a petite Asian woman with long black hair and an imposing frown. She radiated competency but there was a hint of something mischievous, a glint of humor in her eye..

 

“When you have a free few minutes today, I’d like to touch base with you both.” Clint watched their faces; Ward nodded slightly and May’s gaze never changed. “Want some feedback on the applications for summer security. Got some new names that Joe hadn’t used before and I want your read on them.”

 

“I’m heading out to interview the Bowdy brothers about that stolen tractor; I should be back by 2 or so,” Ward said. “I’ll drop in then.”

 

“Let me get the morning roster check done and then I’ll come to your office,” May replied.

 

Clint nodded his agreement. Flies with honey, one of his army buddies used to always say.

 

Heading to his office, Clint’s phone buzzed in his pocket; Steve’s name came up on the display. “Hey,” Clint said as he answered.

 

“Just got off the phone with Maria. She talked to both Hank and Janet; they’re thrilled you’re interested. Want to hear the price they named?” Steve’s voice boomed over the line. He was a morning person by nature. Clint was one by necessity.

 

“Yeah, hit me. Give me the bad news.” Clint braced himself for a seven figure number.

 

“$279,900.”

 

“Excuse me?” Clint couldn’t believe what he heard. “That can’t be right.”

 

“That’s the price for you. They told Maria to list it at 899,000 for everyone else. Janet also said you could have the keys today; she’s got movers lined up to come get their personal effects, some paintings and a few other things, but you can have any pieces of furniture you want.” Steve paused then continued. “Look, Clint, take the deal. Hank’s already taken a job at Culver City University and Janet’s moving there to try and work it out. Bishop was just too rural for her; they’re both happy to see the house in good hands.”

 

“Jesus, Steve, that’s ... “ Clint’s head spun. After selling his tiny place to move here, he had the full price in cash; real estate was pricy in NYC. “I’d be taking advantage of them.”

 

“Nah, Clint, the Van Dynes are very wealthy; don’t worry about Hank and Janet. Just say yes and I’ll get the paperwork started,” Steve encouraged.

 

“I don’t know,” Clint hedged.

 

“You liked the house, right?’ Steve asked.

 

“It’s like a dream home, Steve,” Clint replied.

 

“Then repeat after me. Yes, Steve. I want to make an offer at full asking price. I’ll come pick up the keys later. I’m going to be smart and take this amazing opportunity to live my dream.”

 

Clint chuckled. “Yes, Steve. Go ahead.”

 

“I’ll call when I’ve got the keys.”  Steve disconnected and Clint stood for a second, letting the new development sink in.

 

Standing in the open doorway, Melinda May cleared her throat. “You need a minute?” she asked.

 

“I think I just bought a house,” he said, more to himself than to her.

 

“Janet made you a good deal and you’re worried about taking advantage of a couple having troubles.” May made it a statement, not a question.

 

“Joe said you were good.” Clint waved her in and shut the door behind her. He left the blinds pulled up on the glass panel so there was a clear view of the squad room. “Let me guess. Early morning run around the park with Maria?”

 

One edge of her mouth turned up, almost the start of a smile. “Not bad, but that was an easy one. Jan was talking about donating the house to the historical society for a museum rather than let it become a rental. She and Walter didn’t get along, to put it mildly.”

 

“Thanks. That helps.” Clint sat down in one of the chairs rather than behind the desk. “I’ll invite you to the housewarming. I make a mean pot of ancho chili.”

 

“Well, I don’t cook, but I do know where to buy homemade blue corn tortilla chips.” She took the seat beside him. “You want to show me the list of names or tell me what you really want to chat about.”

 

“Right to the chase. Okay, I can appreciate that.” Clint’s gut agreed with Joe’s recommendation that May was a person he could trust. “What I need is help negotiating the politics of the situation. I know that’s awkward to ask considering Bishop fucked you over for promotion, but if I fail, he’s going to bring in one of his own men.”

 

“Someone on the council went to bat for you, put Bishop on the spot. He was pushing for an external candidates, had his money pinned on an old friend of his from the Army named Garrett. From what I hear, we’re better off with you by a long shot.” May’s spine was ramrod straight, perfect posture. “Do your job and people will support you. It’s a simple as that.”

 

“Well, then, that’s easy. The job comes first.” Clint looked up at one of the pictures Joe had left on the wall, last year’s softball team huddled together around home plate. Everyone was smiling and sweaty after winning the tournament. One moment, captured on film, the illusion of happiness. That’s what Clint wanted -- a team. “Now, let’s look over that list. I had some questions about Ron Hudson and this Josh Brogan. They seem too good to be true.”

 

Clint reached across his desk for the file and got down to work.

 

* * *

 

“Where do you want this?” Trip had one end of the antique desk Clint had bought at a flea market in upstate New York. Mack the mechanic had the other end and neither man was even breaking a sweat.

 

“In the bonus room over the garage. That’s going to be the office,” Clint directed from his place at the stove in the kitchen where he was stirring the massive pot of chili. Bottles of beer were in a cooler, iced down, disappearing steadily as people kept appearing. Steve’s plan to help Clint move in was morphing into a major housewarming party.

 

Clint’s first week on the job had included long hours and a steep learning curve. The evenings often found him staying late to read up on policies and wrestle with brand new forms he needed to learn. He’d barely had time to crawl into bed before he crashed. So far, he’d done a ride along with Trip and issued speeding tickets on the highway, spent thirty minutes on the phone with Mrs.Demere and her suspicions that her next door neighbor was a terrorist, and been called to a command meeting with Mayor Donaldson to talk about a new stop light in town.

 

So he hadn’t gotten to sign the papers on the house until Friday afternoon, and by then Steve had already organized the trucks for Saturday morning. Bucky, of course, groused about getting up at nine, but was more than happy to clear out all the boxes and furniture stored in their garage. Trip had shown up at 9:30 with fresh donuts to go with Steve’s pot of coffee and from there Clint had lost complete control. By 1 pm, Clint found himself at the local Safeway picking the makings of chili and cornbread with Darcy and Skye, buying enough to feed a virtual army. Thor, a mountain man if Clint had ever seen one with his long blonde ponytail and red plaid shirt, had brought his massive DRW truck and made short work of the biggest pieces of furniture. Not that Clint had that much; he’d shipped out only the few things that held memories for him, selling most of the rest. Good thing, too, since the house was almost fully furnished in the living, dining, and bed room.

 

“Smells good.” Melinda stuck her head over Clint’s shoulder. “Did you use the moose meat after all?”

 

“Stuck with the chorizo since I’ve used it before. I”ll try moose next time.” Clint watched as Thor carried in a box of books under each arm. Grant had two framed prints wrapped up in paper that he leaned against the wall. Lots of blank spaces waited for Clint to fill with his own pictures.

 

“Good thing we’ve got another cook,” Maria Hill said, topping off her glass of red wine from the bottle of cabernet sauvignon she’d brought. She looked less like a realtor and more like the ex-Marshall she was. Her dark hair was pulled back from her angular face. “As much as I like Steve’s lasagna, it will be nice to have some new recipes in the mix.”  

 

It didn’t take long for Clint to realize that Melinda and Maria were two women he wanted to have on his side. Clint was in awe of the way they easily corralled the men and got the whole process rolling this morning. They’d organized the unloading, given everyone jobs and even managed to get Peggy contentedly napping on a cushion by the television that was set on a music channel and blaring out 80s tunes.

 

“Or you could learn a few of your own,” Phil said, stealing a cookie from the plastic tub Trip’s grandmother had sent. “I’ll give you Grandma Coulson’s chicken casserole if you want; it’s easy for a starter cook.”

 

“Oh, God, no.” Sam Wilson circled around the island and snagged a big scoop of Mack’s seven layer dip with a blue corn chip. “Remember when she almost burned down the Legion hall? I thought we’d decided never again.”

 

“That was Victoria Hand,” Maria complained, swatting at Sam’s shoulder. “She let the milk boil over.”

 

“Linens?” Steve interrupted. “Some of us are working instead of gabbing.”

 

“Downstairs bedroom. I’ll sort them out later.” Clint nodded to the open doorway. “There’s egyptian towels already in the bathrooms. Don’t know what I’m going to do with all this stuff.”

 

“St. Anne’s will take it. They do an outreach to the poor and homeless. House fires aren’t unusual during the winter months, so they could use sheets and towels and kitchen stuff,” Phil said. He looked so good today in dark jeans and a v-neck sweater, his blue striped shirt unbuttoned and his collar loose. His dark framed glasses pushed all of Clint’s buttons. At least with all the people around, Clint wasn’t going to do something stupid like push Phil against the wall and seeing if he tasted as good in reality as he did in Clint’s dreams. Oh, yes, Clint had been thinking about Phil.

 

“Okay, boss man, you’re all set.” Skye wandered up to the island and scooped up some dip. “Got a femtocell and a repeater all set up, totally secure, not even Stark could break in. Plus, I boosted your dish; you’ll be watching Twilight in the middle of a blizzard.”

 

“Um, what?” Clint had no clue what she was talking about. “Twilight? Yeah, no.”

 

“Housewarming gift, bro,” Bucky told him, snagging a cookie. “Skye’s a whiz at all the techie stuff. Set up our place for us.”

 

Pulling out his phone, Clint saw he had a full five bars of cell service as well as wifi. “Wow. That’s … is it legal?”

 

“100%,” Skye promised. “Well, maybe 90%. I piggybacked two signals together, but they’re both yours, so no biggie.”

 

“Hey, Clint,” Darcy said, sauntering down the stairs from the loft. “You ever need a house sitter, I’ll be glad to watch the place for you. That tub is calling my name.”

 

“I called dibs already,” Skye told her.

 

“Dibs on what?” Mack asked as he came in the kitchen. “You better have left some cookies for us. When’s the chili ready? I worked up an appetite.”

 

“We can dish up now,” Clint said. “Just let me get the cornbread out of the oven and dinner’s on.”

 

The open space filled up with voices and bodies as Melinda and Maria helped Clint lay out a buffet line. Dip and chips were next to the salad Maria brought and then toppings for the chili -- sour cream, shredded cheddar, french fried onions, avocado, sliced chilies, tomatoes, and onions. Bowls from the cabinet, earthenware in dark brown and rust clay, nice and deep. Darcy had whistled when she flipped it over and saw the name brand on the bottom, but Clint liked them because they were heavy in his hand and didn’t feel delicate under his calloused fingers.

 

“All right, there’s two pots -- the smaller is milder and the big is spicy. For those with asbestos tongues, I have Dave’s Hurtin’ Habanero sauce. Best advice is to taste the chili first before you doctor it up. If the mild’s too much, the sour cream and cheese will cool it down for you.” Clint waved a ladle he’d found in the drawer. “Help yourselves.”

 

The noise ratcheted up a couple notches as people swarmed the food. Bucky went for heat, dipping his spoon in his bowl then adding some of the fiery red sauce. Surprisingly to Clint, Darcy practically poured the stuff on her bowlful then covered it in sour cream and cheese; her cheeks got red and her eyes watered, but she proclaimed she was in seventh heaven as she steadily spooned it into her mouth. The salad made a good side dish with creamy Italian dressing and Phil’s contribution, a sheet pan filled with banana cake, was the perfect ending.

 

Every seat was taken around the dining table, the uncut sides of the ash wood still covered in bark, a glass top protecting the smooth grain. The matching square coffee table was littered with coasters for drinks as people crowded onto the sectional. Someone -- Steve -- had found a New York Yankees game and soon there was a heated conversation about who was going to the World Series this year.

 

Clint took a stool at the island, straddling the edge of the countertop so he could see the shadows lengthen on the deck, darkness chasing out into the forest beyond. His life in New York had been solitary; work late, ride the subway home, grab some take out, and eat in front the TV or over the sink. Just a week on the job here and his home was overflowing with laughing people.

 

“This is amazing.” Phil moved a stool around the island so he could see the rest of the room. His spoon had long strings of cheese that dripped down to his bowl. “Secret family recipe?”

 

“Nah.” Clint blew it off; family stories were for another day not one as nice as this. “One of the beat cops in New York used to bring it into the station. The key is to brown the chorizo and ancho chilis  in olive oil and use that to start the base. The oil picks up the flavor.”

 

“Well, you’ve made some converts. I think Mack is on his third bowl.” Phil slipped the spoon between his lips and closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. If Clint watched the way the silver curve slid back out and left a smudge of sour cream at the corner of Phil’s lips, well, it couldn’t really be helped. He did manage to turn his eyes to his own food before Phil caught him staring.

 

“Wait until they try my Irish stew. If it’s something I can dump in a pot and leave all day, I can make it.” A warmth flushed up Clint’s neck and into his cheeks; he could blame the rosy bloom on the spice levels. “Put it in the freezer in individual servings and I’m set for the week.”

 

The doorbell rang, an harmonic jangle of bells. Clint startled for a moment, unused to the sound, then he got up and opened the front door. Standing on the porch was a petite woman with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail; her jeans were muddy at the knees and she wore an oversized canvas coat that smelled faintly of horses.

 

“Hi! I’m Jane Foster, Thor’s wife. Sorry I’m late.” She smiled and her face lit up. “Got an emergency call at the clinic.”

 

“Jane!” Darcy came running over. “You’ve got to have a bowl of Clint’s chili. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

 

Amusement colored Jane’s green eyes. “But I don’t want a hairy chest,” she joked.

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Darcy huffed and grabbed Jane’s arm. “Clint, Jane. Jane, Clint. Now will you come eat? Before Thor and Mack and Steve finish it off?”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Clint said to Jane’s retreating back, shutting the door. The owner of the local veterinary clinic, Jane was well-respected for her work with abandoned and wild animals. She and Thor also trained rescue and service dogs; Steve said people came from all over the state to get one of their pups.

 

In no time, Darcy had given her chair to Jane and Thor put a bowl of chili in front of her along with a cold beer. Clint returned to his stool where Phil had finished his bowl and snatched a couple of Trip’s cookies for dessert.

 

“Your place is gorgeous, Clint,” Jane said between mouthfuls. “Such great views. So glad you bought it. It’s nice to have the sheriff as a neighbor.”   

 

The Odinson farm was down the same road, but further away from town. Only in the West could five miles from your nearest neighbor be called close. “Thanks,” Clint replied.

 

Peggy yipped, standing up on her hind legs with her front paws on Bucky’s knee begging for some food. Breaking of a bit of cornbread, Bucky dropped it into her open mouth. “I can’t stand the pizza face,” he grumbled although his lips turned up in a ghost of a smile.

 

“She’s going to get fat if you don’t stop feeding her table scraps,” Steve complained.

 

“I’m glad to see her doing so well,” Jane said. “When pets go to good homes, that makes all the trouble worthwhile. You wouldn’t believe what some people do to the animals that rely upon them.”

 

“It was bad then?” Melinda asked.”I heard the call was for the Johnston house.”

 

Jane’s smile dropped away, replaced by a grimace. “I’ve put out the word that no one is to sell to them, but they went to a puppy mill near Billings. Poor thing was half-starved and covered with mange. I’m not sure his back leg can be rebroken and healed the right way. And he’s only six weeks old.” With each word, her voice grew harder and Clint could see the steel behind her convictions. “Hardy little soul. Tried to stand up in the wagon on the way back to the clinic. Wanted to look out the window.”

 

“What type of dog is it?” The words were out of Clint’s mouth before he realized he had even thought them.

 

“According to the sale papers, he’s pure-breed husky, but he’s a mutt. Blue eyed with the husky ears, but I’m betting some labrador and hair that might be a spaniel.” She tilted her head and eyed Clint. “You know, a dog would be great living out here. Could help drive off the deer and save your landscaping.”

 

“Better just give in,” Phil advised. “Once Jane gets her teeth into something, she doesn’t let go.”

 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it; being around Peggy made him want a dog of his own. And a rescued dog that had been abused? Clint could identify with that.  “When can I swing by and see him? Does he have a name?”

 

“You’ll want to change it.” Jane wrinkled her nose. “They called him Arrow. Which is how they broke his leg.”

 

* * *

 

Clint didn’t have much to clean up. Everyone had pitched in and put away the leftovers in the pyrex containers they found in the cabinet. Darcy had thrown big black garbage bags, and Maria found dishwasher tablets under the sink, so all Clint had to do was check the doors and turn off lights.

 

Glancing outside, he saw a couple beer bottles on the deck; Grant, Trip, Skye, and Darcy had spilled outside for fresh air at one point. He opened the door and crossed the deck, taking the two steps up to the middle level and the three to the top. Skirting around the built in firepit -- he needed to check how much wood was already split, he reminded himself -- he picked up the empties to throw away.

 

The spot on the back of his neck tingled; turning slowly, he saw the wolf resting on its haunches just inside the tree line on the needle strewn ground. Blue eyes glittered in the light of the waning moon as it tilted its head and stared unblinkingly at Clint. A chill skittered up Clint’s spine, the wind stirring the branches as it passed.

 

“Well, hell, I was going to ask Thor about you and I forgot.” Clint sat the bottles back down gently. “Are you from around here? Is that how you found me again?”  One step, pause, then another until Clint stepped off the edge of the wood planks. “You’re certainly not scared of me, that’s for sure. You’re used to being around people.” Squatting down to eye level, he raised his arm and held out his hand, palm up, in a non-threatening gesture.

 

Paws trod lightly and a cold nose nudged at Clint’s fingers. The wolf ducked its head underneath and bumped again. With a chuckle, Clint flipped his hand over and ran his fingertips through the fur, scratching behind the ears.

 

“Yeah, you like that,” he murmured as the wolf closed its eyes and rumbled in its throat.

 

The fur was soft, colder on the tips and warm near the skin. The vibration of the deep sound was soothing and yet strangely arousing. Clint’s breathing slowed, his heart beat sounded loud in his ears. Rough and wet, the wolf’s tongue licked across Clint’s palm then up his fingers. It tickled, but Clint shivered instead of laughing. Heat flushed up his arm

 

Without warning, the wolf’s head snapped around, his ears going up and his fur bristling. The rumble turned to a low growl; planting its feet, the wolf searched the darkness between the boles of the trees.

 

“Smell another animal out there?” Clint stood and stared, but could see nothing.

 

A howl echoed over the mountains; the wolf turned and butted Clint’s knees, strong enough to push Clint back a step. It yipped and nudged him again before whipping back around and pacing along the edge of the deck.

 

“Okay, Lassie. Herding mode, I get it. I’m going.” He gathered up the bottles and walked down the stairs to the door, the wolf keeping pace behind him, watching his back. When Clint paused to take another glance into the darkness. the wolf’s nose pressed into the bend of his knee, almost knocking him off balance. “Jesus, okay,” Clint groused. “You’re such an Alpha. I bet you’re always on top.”

 

The sound the wolf made was a low pitched and needy; it brushed along Clint’s legs, nose breathing in his scent. Its tongue licked at Clint’s wrist and then it was gone, bounding up the deck in order to patrol along the edge of the trees, sniffing the ground and staring into the woods.

 

Closing and locking the door behind him, Clint shook his head at the whole affair. He flicked off lights, tossing the bottles in the recycle can with the others, a loud clatter of glass against glass. He made one last circuit, checking the doors and setting the alarm before he mounted the stairs. From the loft, the glow of the bedside lamp cast a rectangle on the windows, Clint a silhouette framed inside. He paused, the silvery form of the wolf clear as it loped along the outside of the house, stopping at each door before moving on.

 

“Probably marking its territory,” Clint said. “Seems like I already have a dog.”

 

He tossed his clothes into the laundry basket perched atop unpacked boxes and make quick work of his bedtime rituals. Normally, he slept in his briefs, but tonight he pulled on sleep pants and a t-shirt; he bent over to turn off the lamp and waited for his eyes to adjust. With the blinds open, Clint could see the hillside, the wind rustling through the bare limbs of the trees.

 

A shadow shifted and lengthened, stretching across the boards of the deck. Like a drop of black paint, it dripped down the stairs, oozing towards the patio doors with a strange kind of intent. A niggle of worry curled around Clint’s spine, clenching tighter the closer the shadow came.

 

Another howl split the silence, followed by a second, then a third. The shadow paused then began to break up into smaller bits, disintegrating and blowing away. Clint glanced up and saw a cloud scuttle across the sky. That was the answer, he realized. Clouds obscuring the moonlight. He’d spent too many years in the city, used to the constant noise of cars and sirens and jackhammers and voices. He shook his head and climbed in bed, slipping between the clean sheets.

 

Directly above, spread out across a sea of black, the Milky Way curled across the night, visible through the skylight. He traced the curves with his eyes, remembering the names and picking out the constellations.  Sleep came slowly; he drifted among the stars for a long while as his muscles relaxed and tension seeped away. Finally, he slipped into dreams of a wolf with blue eyes, a man’s hands gliding along his skin, and a deep well of shadow chasing them all.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blush flooded Clint’s cheeks as he realized exactly what he’d said. Well, in for a penny, he thought. “I know this is the worst time, but would you like to …”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes,” Phil replied, eyes never leaving Clint’s.
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t know what I was going to ask,” Clint said, skin tingling from Phil’s heated gaze.
> 
>  
> 
> “Doesn’t matter. The answer is yes. To anything.” A slow smile spread across Phil’s face. “Now that that’s settled, we better get ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do remember me saying this was a slow-burn? I think I warned you. Anyway, chapter 4 is ready to go my beta and a good chuck of chapter 5 is written. This plot is unspooling slowly but it's going to explode soon and earn that explicit warning. :)

“Hey, buddy, how are you doing today?” Clint gently scooped up the puppy, careful to avoid the cast on his back leg. Big patches of hair had been shaved off, the skin underneath red and filled with scaly patches. Still, the pup tilted its head for Clint to scratch behind his ears.

 

“He perks up when you’re here,” Jane told him, looking over his shoulder as the puppy tried to crawl up Clint’s chest. “I think he’s ready to go home. His leg is healing better than we hoped; he’s a lucky dog. We found him in time.”

 

Anger still bubbled when Clint saw the damage done to the innocent animal. Thankfully, Jane was pressing charges even if the statutes held little in the way of fines.  “That’s what I’ll call him. Lucky.”

 

“I like it.” Jane smiled. “I’ll get his medicines ready for you; drop by after work to get him.”

 

“I’ll call when I leave town,” Clint promised just as his phone rang. He juggled the pup to one hand and answered. “Barton.”

 

“Hey, Boss Man.” Darcy sounded far too chipper for this early in the morning; Clint immediately wondered if she’d even gotten to bed last night. She and Skye had driven up to Missoula for a girl’s night out. “Got a problem out at the high school; Ward’s out of range and Trip’s tied up with a fender bender. Thought you might want to handle it yourself what with Principal Coulson calling himself and all.”

 

Ah, that was Darcy alright. She was playing matchmaker and subtlety wasn’t her strong suit. Best to just ignore her attempts. “I’m at the Vet Clinic; I’ll head over that way now.” He passed Lucky over to Jane and mouthed his good bye. “Okay, fill me in. What’s up?”

 

The news wasn’t good; Dennis Johnston had brought a loaded gun to school and pulled it out during an argument in study hall. The more details Clint heard, the more concerned he grew. The Johnston brothers already had long records of drunk and disorderly, fighting, and a myriad of other minor charges. Dennis, the third of five, was a beefy bully whose first answer was always his fists. Thing was, Clint knew these kinds of kids; he’d dealt with lots of punks in both the Army and in New York. They almost always came with family baggage, parents who didn’t give a damn or didn’t have time between jobs to watch over them. Angry at their lot in life, feeling helpless at home, they struck out against others weaker than them, searching for a way to gain some sense of worth. They wore their belligerence like a cloak of protection and made it difficult to reach the scared kid underneath.

 

From what Clint could glean from the files, the oldest, Bobby, was a piece of work, an instigator, urging the others to keep up with his increasingly violent antics. Ralph, the second oldest, followed in Bobby’s footsteps while Dennis, not as smart but bigger, was the muscle of the group. The youngest, Nate, seemed to go his own way; a solid B student, Nate had hopes of getting a track scholarship when he graduated in three years. He kept his nose mostly clean, just a few occasional lapses that could be chalked up to teenage energy.

 

But a gun in school, especially when it had been fired, was a new level of problems for the Johnstons. Recent changes in the state gun laws made any violation of the safer school act an adult crime. Whether Dennis had intended to harm anyone didn’t matter; he was going to be charged with possession of a firearm on school property and reckless endangerment of others. Heaven help them, but this was going to be on the front page of the local paper and maybe the evening news.

 

Clint wheeled his Jeep into a visitor parking spot by the front door of the Ravalli County Comprehensive High School, turning off the engine and gathering up his tablet as well as his phone. Skye had computerized all the files, adding note taking software to make things easier to file. Checking his gun, Clint got out and strode to the glass doors, waiting for the buzzer that let him in. Eyes followed his progress through the class windows, students in their rooms watching as he entered the building.

 

Standing just inside was the Assistant Principal, Victoria Hand. Taller than Clint, Victoria’s long hair had red streaks and her glasses matched the color. They’d spoke a few times at Moe’s diner where Victoria stopped to get her morning coffee sometimes. Everyone crossed paths at the counter, all the early morning people lined up, half asleep, waiting on their caffeine fix.  

 

“Sheriff Barton,” she said with a nod in her professional voice. Things must be worse than Clint knew if Victoria was crossing the Ts this early. “Thank you for coming so quickly. If you’ll follow me?”

 

“Of course.” Clint fell in beside her; as they walked down the hallway lined with lockers, her heels clicked on the tile, a steady cadence that echoed in the emptiness. In his head, Clint checked off all the markers -- students in classrooms on what was probably a lockdown situation, Victoria not speaking a word where they could be overheard -- and came to the conclusion that things were bad. Following procedure was important for the legal chain of documentation.

 

As soon as the door swung shut in the private secretary’s office, Clint saw Phil standing with Jemma Simmons, his face drawn in concentration as he listened to her soft words. He looked up and saw Clint; for a second, his eyes flicked down and back up, taking in Clint’s uniform, then he spoke.  

 

“We’ve got a situation,” he said. “All the parties are in separate rooms, waiting to be interviewed. Barb’s called all the parents; the Kaplans are already here, Ms. Altman has left work and is on her way, and Mr. Seymour’s secretary is getting him on the Satellite phone. No one answers at the Johnston’s; Victoria knows someone who has Bobby’s cell phone, so she’s going to track him down. If Alex’s on a bender, there’s no telling where he is.”

 

Phil ushered Clint into what was clearly his office; a framed picture of Phil and an imposing black man, both in fatigues and somewhere in the mountains, sat on the bookcase. Shutting the door firmly behind them, Phil motioned Jemma to have a seat; Clint leaned against the wall, too wired to sit down, taking out his tablet and opening the recorder.

 

“Start at the beginning,” Clint told them. “I need to know everything that happened.”

 

Phil nodded to Jemma to begin. She took a breath, looking young and vulnerable when she turned to Clint.

 

“It started as soon as the bell rang to start first period. I oversee study hall in the library and I always take roll first to send to the office. Dennis came in just seconds before the bell and he was wound up more than usual. Very agitated, moving around, unable to sit still. I mean, he’s never easy, but mostly he half-lays in his seat, tilting it back on two legs and hanging his arms down so he can reach out as people walk around his table. But he was … his leg jiggled constantly and his eyes were darting back and forth, like he was looking for someone specific. Unfortunately, it was Billy who set him off.”

 

“Billy Kaplan?” Clint asked for the record.

 

Jemma nodded, then realized she was being recorded. “Yes. William Kaplan. A sophomore. He came in three minutes late with an excuse note; as he tried to walk to his usual chair, Dennis said something -- I didn’t hear what it was exactly, they were on the far side of the library and he was quiet about it -- but it upset Billy. Like I said, I was taking roll, and I didn’t realize there was a problem until I saw Teddy -- Theodore Altman -- stand up and hear the chair hit the floor. Teddy’s Billy’s boyfriend; he stepped between Dennis and Billy and I clearly heard Teddy tell Dennis to back off and leave Billy alone.”

 

“What did you do then?”  Clint joted a few notes with his stylus. Jemma was petite; he couldn’t see her wading into a fight between the boys.

 

“I told Amy Cardwell to run get Phil -- Principal Coulson -- and told them to break it up and sit down.” Jemma gave him a tremulous smile. “I may be small but I’ve got a big voice. I”m sure they heard me down at the end of the foreign language hall.”

 

There was steel there, beneath the sweet exterior. Clint suddenly felt better about the situation. “I bet they did,” he agreed, earning him a smile. “So, what happened next?”

“It was so fast. I know people say that on TV, but it was true. One second, the door was shutting behind Amy and I heard her footsteps running down the hall then Dennis called Billy and Teddy a terrible name and suddenly fists were flying. Bobby hit Teddy on the jaw, knocking him back. Teddy bloodied Dennis’s nose in response, Billy had a hold on Dennis’s arms, but  he threw them off and … the gun was in his hand. I don’t know where it came from. I’ve tried to remember, but it’s blur. One minute Dennis was cursing at them and then he was waving the pistol around, shouting about how they were a blight on the land, an abomination to the natural way. It was so strange, what he was saying. Something about how the fox couldn’t protect them, that the bear was waking … honestly, I think you need to do a drug test. He was clearly under the influence of a chemical agent -- the nerves, tremors, restlessness, incoherency.”

 

“We’ve already started the process,” Phil said. “We have probable cause for a drug search and blood sample.”

 

“The gun?” Clint prompted.

 

“Oh, yes. I told everyone to get under the desks and tables, so there was a few moments of confusion as Dennis ranted. Then I tried to talk to him, make him calm down. For a second, I thought it might work, but his eyes were glazed and Billy shifted closer to Teddy and Dennis lost it. He fired at the ceiling, I think to get our attention or make a statement -- I don’t think he intended to hit anyone -- and the bullet ricocheted and grazed Evan Seymour, one of Dennis’s friends. That’s what snapped him out of it; he dropped the gun and Phil came in.”

 

“Thanks, Jemma,” Clint said. “Are you going to be okay?”

 

“Yes.” Jemma shivered a little. “I think so. Fitz is waiting and is going to stick around, so I won’t be alone.”

 

“Good. Don’t go far. I’ll have someone interview you again for a second statement later to see if you’ve remembered anything. Get something to drink and try to relax,” Clint told her. Jemma stood and nodded in agreement, leaving the office and shutting the door.

 

“How’s the Seymour kid?” Clint asked. With Jemma gone, Phil visibly slumped his shoulders, going from got-it-all-together Principal Coulson to just Phil.

 

“Bullet grazed his bicep, didn’t even bleed all that much. Physically, he’s fine. Mentally, all of them are pretty shaken up, myself included. It’s not like we don’t have kids with rifles in their truck windows out in the parking lot, but this is unusual for us. Dennis has his issues, but this feels more like something Bobby would do.” Phil let out a breath and sighed. “Damn it all, it’s just not like Dennis. He’d go after Teddy with his fists first and call him names later.”

“Without a parent or authorized adult present, we can’t talk to him yet. Let’s start with Teddy Altman and then Billy Kaplan and see what we get.” As much as Clint wanted to question the Johnston boy, there was no way he was going in there now and screwing up the case.

 

“Teddy’s in the break room just down the hall.” Phil stood, brushed his suit and slipped back into his tough demeanor. “We can send Victoria in with Billy then trade off; I always use her as my second pair of eyes.”

 

Clint let Phil take the lead, hanging back as he went for the door. Hand on the knob, Phil paused and said, “Haven’t seen you in your uniform. It’s a good look.”

 

A flash of pleasure burst in Clint’s chest; now, didn’t that statement make Phil’s intentions plain? “You make that suit look pretty good yourself there, Coulson,” he replied.

 

Phil grinned, there and then gone quickly, took a deep breath and then opened the door.

* * *

Dennis slumped in a plastic chair, head in his meaty hands, fingers dug into his long greasy brown hair. He’d been stuck in the interrogation room at the Sheriff’s office for two hours and that was after they’d finally moved him from the school. Still no sign of his father, the older brother had finally answered his phone only to give them the name of a social worker. Melinda had been the one to breakthrough the red tape and get in touch with the DA’s office for a lawyer. That’s why Jennifer Walters was sitting beside Dennis in her red power suit, curly mane of hair tamed in a french braid. She’d drawn the short straw; almost all the lawyers in the DA’s office had been involved with the Johnstons at least once.

 

As Clint entered, Dennis lifted his eyes and gazed dazedly at him. Red rimmed the irises and  a dribble of black blood ran from his nostril. He looked younger than he was, a little boy lost in a teenager’s body.

 

“Sheriff Barton.” Walters stood and offered her hand; she had a strong grip and a determined face. “In lieu of my client’s family, I have obtained temporary rights in order to facilitate today’s evidentiary interview.”

 

“Thank you, Ms. Walters. I’m glad you’re here. Dennis has waited long enough, haven’t you?” Clint addressed that to the boy, hoping for a reaction, but he got nothing, not even a flinch. “You hungry? I know you missed lunch. Grant, can you bring him a sandwich and a soda?”

 

Ward side eyed him but left the room; Melinda sat down opposite Jennifer and Clint slid into the remaining chair. He opened the file of all the information they’d gathered so far.  

 

“You the good cop?” Dennis mumbled, his words a slur of vowels. “‘Cause I know she’s the bit … bad one.”

 

Melinda didn’t react to the barb. She simply stared at Dennis.

 

“Look, I just want to hear your side of the story about what happened this morning. Something tells me you know you’re in trouble.” Clint sat back and rested his hand on the table. “Let’s start with the gun. Where did you get it?”

 

“I don’t … I didn’t … “ He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I don’t remember. I just can’t …”  He began to shake, his body trembling all over.

 

“Okay.” Clint could sense Dennis was on the edge. “Something easier. Tell me about yesterday. What did you do after school?”

 

Shoulders fell, Dennis took a deep breath and glanced at Jennifer before he answered. “Went to work.”

 

Now there was the teenager Clint was expecting. Short, no added information, half-mumbled. Keeping the same even tone, he asked, “Where do you work?”

 

“Wilson’s.” Dennis shifted in his seat and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

 

“What do you do there?” The key was to not lose patience; Clint had dealt with kids like Dennis before. He’d get the story eventually. “What’s it like to work for Wade?”

 

“Hey, man, Wade’s cool. I mean, he’s crazier than a bag of coons but he’s not a bad guy. Keeps the freezer full of frozen burritos and chimichangas that I can eat for snacks.” That got Dennis to wake up. “I stock the shelves, fill the bins, clean up after the customers.”

 

“Personally, I think the crazy is a mask. Wade’s a decent guy, somewhere underneath it all.” Clint shrugged. “So, anything happen at work?”

 

“Nah,” Dennis sat up, a bit of attitude coming back. “The Guisemans were in and their kids got into the nail bins. Mixed the penny ⅜ drywalls with the ¾ deck nails. Took me a half hour to straighten them out. Thor stopped in for more two by fours for the new pens he’s building. Miss Maggie bought seeds and potting soil; I loaded them in her car. Old Man Tom came in at closing with some venison stew that he traded for two gallons of paint.”

 

Sure sounded like Dennis liked his job; that he showed it surprised Clint. After all this time, Clint should have learned to never discount a kid based upon gossip and rumors. “Wade closes at nine, right?”

 

“Wade closes when he decides to. Last night, we stayed for bowls of stew. It was after ten when I walked to the Bones to get the hoopdiemobile. I went in to get the keys and Brock gave me grief about the Rockies losing. Then I drove home …” Dennis paused, forehead wrinkling. “I think I got home … I don’t remember … no, wait. The car died. Bobby didn’t put gas in it again … or maybe …” He pursed his lips and tensed up. “The engine rattled and … fucking idiot didn’t tune it up …” Shifting, he clinched his fists, face going red. “Right in the middle of nowhere. I had to fucking walk. Piece of shit car.”

 

“Dennis,” Jennifer warned. “Remember we talked about language? Is this relevant?”

 

“Fuck that. Fuck all of it.” Dennis slammed his fists on the table, anger boiling over. “Fucking school that’s useless and fucking Bobby off drinking away the car money. Fucking perfect little bitch of a teacher with her accent. Fucking faggot Kaplan with his boyfriend this and boyfriend that like the Altman kid’s a fucking catch. It’s wrong, unnatural, prancing around all hand holding and kissing in the hall …”

 

“Dennis!” Jennifer raised her voice and tried to interrupt, but Dennis was too worked up. He shoved back from the table and stood, towering over the others. “You need to stop talking right now.”

 

“Stop talking, stop breathing, get out of my face, get out of the house, go to hell, go away …” A trickle of black blood rolled out of his nostril; his breathing grew ragged, his pupils dilating. “Fuck you all! You all deserve it!”

 

Muscles tensed and his hands trembled; Dennis lunged up out of his chair and turned towards Jennifer with a furious intent. Clint launched himself around the table and got a grip on Dennis’ wrist as he pulled back, balling his fingers into a fist. Baleful eyes flashed as Dennis snapped his head around, a deep growl in his throat. With a pivot, Clint bent the arm behind the kid’s back and had him face down on the table with just a little application of pressure. Bucking up, Dennis tried to throw Clint off, but Clint had the advantage of gravity; all he needed to do was press down with his weight.

 

“What about Evan?” Clint leaned forward and spoke in Dennis’ ear. “Did he deserve it? He’s your friend, right? Did he need to be shot?”

 

Like a balloon with a slow leak, the fight went out of the boy; his chest sank down and he sighed loudly. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I don’t know why I did it, I just was so angry and annoyed. It was like I couldn’t help myself, was watching it happen.”

 

“I understand,” Clint told him, snapping a cuff on one wrist and linking him to the bar on the table. “We’re going to get this figured out, okay? I just need you to be calm.”

 

A tear streaked face nodded when Clint let him up and pushed the chair underneath him again. “I don’t want to go to jail,” Dennis said on broken breaths. “Please help me.”

 

Grant came in the room, a paper bag in one hand and a large soda in the other. “Got a hot sandwich for you. Moe says you like pastrami on rye; he loaded it up with lots of meat.”

 

The interruption was just what Clint needed; he caught Melinda and Jennifer’s eyes, silently giving them instructions to leave the room. “That sounds great. Did you get an extra?”

 

“Just one for me and the kid here,” Grant replied, kicking out Clint’s empty chair and sitting down. “You’ll have to get your own.”

 

“I think I will.” Clint saw the minute nod Grant gave him; Ward had been watching the proceedings. “We’ll give you time to enjoy your sandwiches.”

 

He left the room, firmly closing that door before he opened the one to the viewing room, ushering Melinda and Jennifer in. Waiting for them were two men: Phil and a curly haired man in a rumpled blue oxford and khaki pants. Wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

 

“Dr. Banner?” Clint assumed this was the doctor from the hospital. The town boasted the only hospital in the county even if the staff was small and most specialists a good hour drive away. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Call me Bruce.” He shook Clint’s outstretched hand with a firm grip. “I’m glad I could make it in time to see the interview. Clearly, Dennis is under the influence of some mind altering substance. The question is which one. He exhibits the symptoms of a number of different drugs. The rage of steroids but also the memory lapse of ecstasy. And the loss of sense of self could be meth. Unfortunately, all of those are available around here if you know where to look. I’d like to get a blood sample for a tox screen and a brief exam. Check his blood pressure and heart rate at least. Then I can start to narrow things down.”

 

“As his legal representative, I should require you to get a warrant,” Jennifer said. She glanced at the one way glass and saw Dennis with his head down, methodically eating his sandwich without saying a word.

 

“Right now, Dennis is looking at being charged as an adult on reckless endangerment and firearms violations,” Clint told her. “If, and I stress if, it turns out that Dennis took something that accounts for his behavior, the drug charges take precedence and he’ll be charged as a juvenile offender. The firearms and endangerment become juvenile as well.”

 

She nodded, perfectly aware of what Clint was telling her. Dennis would be better off with a stint in rehab and community service than going to adult prison. Last thing Clint wanted to do was put Dennis there.

 

“Alright, Bruce. Blood sample and exam, and I’m present during the whole thing.” Jennifer made up her mind. “I need to call my office then we can get to it.”

 

Bruce left with Jennifer; Melinda paused at the door herself. “It’s 3:30,” she reminded Clint.

 

“Damn it,” Clint swore softly. “Yeah, I’ll be ready. Get Skye to set up the audio and video.”

 

“She’s already on it,” Melinda assured him as she exited.

 

“What’s at 3:30?” Phil asked.

 

“I promised to brief the press at four,” Clint explained. “Some TV stations have sent reporters down from Missoula and one’s even here from Butte. Gotta go feed the beast.”

 

“Do you want me to make a statement? I can talk about school procedures and the lock down if you think it would help,” Phil offered.

 

“God, yes, that would be great. You ran that school like clockwork this morning; I think they need to hear that.” Clint grinned at Phil. “Plus, your competent look will go over well on camera. I look like a hobo in brown khaki.”

 

“I think you looked pretty competent in that interview room. You got to Dennis, calmed him down,” Phil contracted.

 

“Ah, that’s easy. Talk slow, be easy going, work them up to it, pull back when they need it, then push them over.” Clint shrugged. “Not all that special.”

 

Phil raised one eyebrow and his eyes darkened at Clint’s words. “Really? Sounds pretty special to me. And useful advice for all kinds of situations.”

 

A blush flooded Clint’s cheeks as he realized exactly what he’d said. Well, in for a penny, he thought. “I know this is the worst time, but would you like to …”

 

“Yes,” Phil replied, eyes never leaving Clint’s.

 

“You don’t know what I was going to ask,” Clint said, skin tingling from Phil’s heated gaze.

 

“Doesn’t matter. The answer is yes. To anything.” A slow smile spread across Phil’s face. “Now that that’s settled, we better get ready.”

 

“Right. Statement. Media.” Clint tried to remember what he had been thinking two seconds ago.

 

“For that too,” Phil agreed.

* * *

“Thank you for coming. I’m Clint Barton, the sheriff of Ravalli County; I’ve got a brief statement then I’ll take a few questions.”

 

God, but Clint hated this part. The press in New York had been, for the most part, vultures more interested in picking over the already dead bones of victims and perpetrators alike. But this was a different kind of reporters; only a few had perfectly white capped teeth and blown out hair. These were local beat writers and brand new on-air talent, still young and idealistic. He could see it shining in their eyes.

 

“At approximately 8:12 this morning, an incident occurred at Ravalli County High School. An altercation between students escalated and a firearm was involved. One shot was fired and one student was treated on the scene for a minor wound. We have a person of interest in custody and the investigation is ongoing. No names will be released at this time nor is it our department’s policy to identify minors.” Clint stopped to take a breath. “I want to be perfectly clear. The situation is under control and there is no danger to the public. The students have all returned home safely and the school will be open tomorrow.”

 

“Sheriff Barton!” The youngest man in the gathered group on the courthouse steps shouted the loudest. He looked no older than his teens, but he had a camera around his neck and a press badge. “Sheriff Barton! Peter Parker from the Bishop Observer-Reporter. Was this a part of a planned attack on the school?”

 

“Eyewitness accounts all agree that the gun was pointed up at the ceiling when it discharged. At this point, we have no information that suggests this was more than an argument gone wrong.”  Clint had been expecting that one; with any school shooting, it was a natural jump for scared people  to make.

 

“So the wounding was accidental?” Parker followed up.

 

“That’s what the eyewitnesses are telling us.” Clint gently tiptoed around the question. He nodded at a dark haired woman towards the back.

 

“Jessica Drew with the Billings Herald Leader. Do you have any idea about the motive of the student? Did he bring the gun to school for specific reason?”

 

“We’re still investigating; that’s unclear at the moment,” Clint answered. He picked one more reporter, the man from the Butte TV station.

 

“Sources say this was a hate crime,” he led with. Clint instantly disliked him. “Was this about sexual orientation?”

 

“If you have sources with information, I’d be delighted to hear from them directly as part of the official investigation.” Clint heard a titter of laughter from a few other reporters. “Any motive has not yet been determined. Now I’m going to turn this over to Phil Coulson, principal of the high school.”

 

Clint stepped aside despite the voices calling out more questions. He’d made his point; now Phil was going to bring home the fact that the situation was under control. Stepping up to the microphone, Phil had left his jacket behind, opting for his blue striped dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and loosened tie. He looked like the man in charge that he was. And he was hot as hell in Clint’s eyes. It didn’t help that Clint had a perfect view of Phil’s ass, cupped by his dark blue dress pants. Turning his gaze to Melinda, Clint saw the quick sparkle that came and went in her eyes. Damn woman didn’t miss a thing.

* * *

“Go home.” Melinda stood in the open door of Clint’s office, backlit by the electric lights of the squad room. “You’ve been staring at the same picture for the last five minutes. The toxicology won’t be back for two days. Dennis is sleeping it off in one of the cells; Trip’s got eyes on him. Best thing you can do is get a good night’s sleep and hit it fresh in the morning.”

 

“There’s something I’m missing.” A thought had been niggling at the corner of mind; he just couldn’t bring it into focus.

 

“Joe’s first rule he always teaches the newbies; don’t let the job consume you or you won’t be able to do the job. That’s why Joe always took his two weeks to go fly fishing in the summer. Besides, you won’t be any good for your date with Phil on Friday night.”

 

“I don’t have a date with Phil,” Clint protested.

 

“The Manor Cinema’s running a classic double feature of The Day the Earth Stood Still and Forbidden Planet. Phil likes the burgers at Wingharts just down the street.” She put a hand on one hip. “Phil and I have been friends since school. Hurt him and you’ll answer to me.”

 

“Wow, okay. A shovel speech and a date planner all in one. You could make a business of that.” Clint pushed his rolling chair away from his desk, stood up and stretched. “I won’t make any promises because I’ve pretty much screwed up every relationship so far, but I’ll do my best.”

 

May stared at him then gave a curt nod. “That’ll do. Now get your ass home and get some sleep.”

 

He didn’t realize how dark it had gotten outside, held up in his office, going through the pieces of evidence. The parking lot out back was lit by the two street lamps, the cars casting long shadows across the asphalt. The jeep was in the far corner and Clint got his keys out as he shut the door and walked over. Chilly now that the sun was down, the night breeze made him shiver in his lighter jacket.

 

He was thinking of Lucky spending another night at Dr. Foster’s clinic in all this craziness when the bird sailed down and landed on the top of his car, just over the windshield. Beautiful long pointed wings and a dark crown, the peregrine falcon perched and turned its unblinking eyes upon Clint as if waiting for him.

 

“A little early for you to come back north, isn’t it?” It seemed Clint was talking to animals now. “You guys usually show up in May, according to the interweb. You are a handsome fellow, though.”

 

The bird squawked at him, fluttering its wings before launching itself up in the air and flying away. What was next, Clint wondered? Wolves and falcons. Welcome to Montana.

 

A light fog hung above the road as he drove home, the air conditioning on low to keep himself awake. He tuned to Z100; the plaintive guitar riff mixed with voices singing of a horse in a desert and how no one could remember your name. Turning in his driveway, he thought about calling Wilson and getting a load of gravel so he could fill in the damage done over the winter. Then he slammed on his brakes, back end sliding to the right.

 

Standing in the middle of the road was a grizzly bear, strolling leisurely up towards the house. Clint’s lights illuminated the dark brown fur and the distinctive hump as it shambled along, completely unfazed by the Jeep. Half of Clint’s brain told him to back up, but other part said to wait it out. The mountains were the bear’s home long before Clint got here.  So he sat with the engine running as it started around the curve; just before it was out of sight, it stopped and the head swung around. Dark liquid eyes looked right at Clint; the bear grunted loud enough for Clint to hear. Then it ambled off into the woods at a right angle, heading north towards the park.

 

“Okay. That’s enough for today.” Clint drove slowly the rest of the way, half expecting yet another animal encounter, but he made it into the garage and the door rolled down smoothly behind him. The house was quiet, just the one light he’d left on over the kitchen sink; he made the rounds of the doors, glancing out into the night, before heading up the stairs. Two from the top, he heard the first howl. A second followed and then a third. Shadows darted between the boles, lithe and quick.

 

The day had been long and the morning would come all too early with all its problems. Clint was too tired to worry about wild animals in the mountains. Tossing his uniform in the hamper, he crawled in bed and doused the lights, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Outside, the shadow pooled beneath an aspen tree, elongating as it shifted from creature to creature, changing shapes seamlessly. Gliding away, it sped across the distance, merging with the darkness and searching for its next host. There was work to be done.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Something out there? See a rabbit?” Clint chuckled at the little guy, standing with his feet planted. Maybe it was the wolf come back to visit; Clint had seen the grey hybrid a few times since his first night in the house, passing through the trees.
> 
>  
> 
> With a loud whine, Lucky scuttled back towards the house until he jerked the leash to its full length. Clint bent and picked up the dog; Lucky nosed his head under Clint’s arm and hid his face.
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay, scaredy cat.” Clint scratched behind Lucky’s ear. “We’ll go inside.”
> 
>  
> 
> The howl was close enough to raise the hackles on the back of Clint’s neck. Lucky squirmed and whined. Glancing back, Clint saw a shadow detach from the darkness and lope out into the yard, black fur bristling as it circled the deck. Too big for a wolf, too small for a bear, it stayed just outside the edges of light, indistinct in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have relocated the Manor Theater and Wingharts, both of which exist in Pittsburgh, PA, not Montana. The Manor is a place that runs film festivals and plays the movies you can't find anywhere else (like Kill the Messenger and Whedon's Much Ado About Nothing). Wingharts is a hole-in-the-wall burger joint with my favorite burger ever with beer cheese and a Jamison whiskey sauce. The burger Phil has is da bomb as well. :) If you're ever in da 'Burgh make sure you check them out.
> 
> I retroactively changed Lucky's age here from six months to six weeks. I was online looking at puppies of that mixed breed and, man, they're big at six months. So for Clint to pick him up easily, I went back a bit.

“Wow, okay, look at these burgers.” Clint flipped over the laminated menu and perused the selections. “I don’t know where to start. What do you usually order?”

 

The burger place was just down the street from the Manor Theater, more bar than restaurant. The muted orange faux painted walls held work by local artists and the tables were slim and attached, bar stools tucked up underneath. Fortunately, they were in a corner of the odd little annex area at the back where they could hear each other over the din of the folk gathered around to watch a hockey game on the big screen TVs. Clint had thought twice about bringing Phil here on their first date when he saw the storefront, but the menu more than made up for his worries.

 

“I’m a fan of the Tikka Marsala. The chicken sausage with the sauce is amazing.” Phil pointed to the description on the menu. “But I’ve been known to get the Shipwrecked when I’m in the mood for beef.”

 

They’d driven over to Hamilton to catch the afternoon double feature. The Manor, an old theater refurbished and used for special showings, still had a balcony and a real popcorn machine. Like a kid in a candy store, Phil had insisted on paying for a bucket with real butter and Milk Duds. Clint was secretly glad that Phil didn’t pick out Junior Mints -- he hated Junior Mints -- and he didn’t protest when Phil picked the front row of the upper level, right in the middle of the velvet curtains that covered the screen. The whole day was surreal; Clint felt like he was back in high school, all fumbling vowels and nervous stomach as they sat down so close together there was no way to keep their knees from touching and shoulders from rubbing against each other.

 

Science fiction wasn’t his thing; he’d much rather see an old western or a spy thriller, but Phil enjoyed it so much that Clint just went along with the underlying excitement. Phil was a good companion, explaining a few things, but mostly letting Clint watch the movie without spoilers. Not that Clint paid all that much attention when Phil’s fingers brushed his as they both reached for the popcorn. If he cut his eyes to the left, he could see Phil’s profile, face lit by the flickering light of the film. A smile flitted across Phil’s mouth and Clint could count the rise and fall of Phil’s chest as he relaxed and got into the movie.

 

Long past the age of pretending to yawn to put his arm around a date, Clint instead sank into the comfort of Phil’s presence, letting his worries drift off as Klaatu slowly fell in love with Helen and raced to save the world. Hormones and hand holding in the dark were nice, but sitting there aware of Phil, learning more about him as the moments passed, was what Clint needed. His relationships had always seemed to be more about jumping into bed in the first blush of lust and look where that had gotten him.

 

“Brie, onions and white truffle oil? A little too French for me. I think maybe I’ll try the Denny Double Bleu. I do like bleu cheese. Fries?” They’d fallen into an easy conversation style, understanding what the other was asking with few words needed.

 

“Share an order. It’s a lot,” Phil replied.

 

Clint ordered a glass of Bushmills when the waitress came; Phil picked Glenfiddich. Their burgers in process, Clint looked across the table at the handsome man who’d agreed to go out with him. Phil was wearing a blue cableknit sweater and blue jeans; he’d worn his black framed glasses and rolled up the sleeves of his striped dress shirt.

 

“Nice to see you out of uniform,” Phil said, then blushed at his double entendre. “I mean, I like you in a t-shirt and jeans.” He stammered and started again. “I mean, I like you period but you look great in casual clothes. And the leather jacket does it for me.” He snorted a quick laugh. “God, I’m bad at this. You look nice, Clint..”

 

“And here I was not saying you’re one hell of a sexy principal,” Clint replied. “I thought that might be too creepy for the first date.”

 

They chuckled together as the waitress delivered their drinks. “Well, now that we have that out of the way, maybe we can carry on a somewhat intelligent conversation,” Phil suggested.

 

“Principal Coulson!” The man making his way across the bar waved; he wore an expensive grey suit and had his sunglasses on inside. Clint knew exactly who it was; anybody who lived in New York knew the infamous Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.

 

“Phil.” The strawberry blonde woman with Stark leaned over and gave Phil a quick buss on the cheek. “Nice to see you. I didn’t know you were going to be in town or I’d have steered Tony elsewhere.”

 

“How’s the school biz, Principal?” Tony motioned to the waitress and, as if magically, two more stools appeared. He squeezed in beside Clint, nudging him over.

 

“Tony,” Pepper warned. “We’re interrupting. Let’s get our own table.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure the Principal and the Sheriff don’t mind, do you?” Tony wasn’t paying attention, leaning back to order a bottle of Jameson Reserve. “I want to catch up on all the town gossip so I know how to stick it to Bish. So scoop; Derek traded down for a younger model yet?”

 

Phil looked helplessly at Clint; he shrugged as Tony kept talking.

 

“And I’ve got to find out everything about Sheriff Barton here. Like why anyone would leave a detective position in the NYPD to catch speeders in Montana.” Tony turned his dark eyes on Clint. “I mean, come on. You’re in shape, young, and pretty cute. Are you crazy?”

 

“Please ignore Tony,” Pepper said as she sat down by Phil. “He’s a city boy. The only reason I talked him coming here is because he hates Walter Bishop.”

 

“That’s not true,” Tony protested. “The skiing is great in the winter, and I can get work done uninterrupted in the workshop.”

 

“As long as you don’t blow the power out again,” Phil added. He winked at Clint as he needled Stark. As he shifted to accommodate Pepper, Phil’s knee slipped between Clint’s legs, rubbing along the inseam of his jeans.

 

“So, Barton. Spill.” Stark ignored Phil and pressed onward.

 

“Actually, we’ve met before,” Clint told him. Furrows appeared between Tony’s brows.

 

“Yeah, no, don’t remember. Hey, I’ll take a Shipwrecked burger.” He switched to talking to the returning waitress. “Pep? What do you want?”

 

“A Beretta, please.” She smiled as she handed over her menu as the waitress left again. “I thought you looked familiar. Did you work with Happy?”

 

“When I was still in uniform, I moonlighted as extra security. Hogan hired me for a number of events.” Clint immediately liked Virginia Potts; anyone who could put up with Stark got high marks in his book. “Been a few years ago.”

 

“Well, that explains it. You’d have been in a monkey suit. I didn’t recognize you in the tiny t-shirt and tight jeans.” Stark wiggled his eyebrows. “In fact, you looked like you’re dressed for a night out. Phil playing wingman? Or big brother?”

 

“Are you here for a long visit?” Clint asked Pepper, not giving Stark the satisfaction of an answer. “The weather’s still pretty variable, but Lost Powder Trail has a good snowpack.”

 

“Probably two weeks,” she replied, shooting a judging look at Tony. “That’s about how long it will take for the rumors to die down. But that’s a story for another time. What’s this I hear about a shooting at the high school? It even made the national news.”

 

Clint tensed; he hated talking about cases with others. He’d been burned a few times and learned that lesson. In response, Phil dropped a foot off his stool and hooked his ankle around Clint’s; the warm pressure of Phil’s leg made Clint shiver.

 

“Blown out of proportion,” Phil responded. “It was an argument that got out of hand; the shooter didn’t intend to harm anyone”

 

“The reports said he was on drugs.” Pepper shook her head. “I like to think things are simpler here; we hear too much about illegals in New York.”

 

“We don’t know anything for certain,” Clint said, giving her the same line he had given the reporters. “We’re waiting on the tox screens to come back.”

 

“Just happened to have a gun in his backpack.” Tony smirked at Pepper. “That’s Montana for you.”

 

“Doesn’t your company produce weapons, Stark?” Clint beat Phil to a response. “And I’ve been on the streets of New York. Only difference is the number of gun deaths.”

 

“That was a swipe at me,” Pepper informed them. “Tony never lets me forget Bishop is my hometown. He bought the house here so I could visit family from time to time.”

 

“Yeah, Phil’s her cousin.” Tony sat back as the waitress delivered their food. “3rd, 4th, something like that, right?”

 

“Fifth cousins, twice removed,” Pepper said. “In Bishop, I’m a Coulson.”

 

“There were five original families,” Phill supplied. “A lot of folk can trace their ancestry back to one of them.”

 

“Right, I read the town history on the website. The only survivors of a wagon train that headed west.” Clint had even picked up a book on the town’s history, he just hadn’t got around to finishing it yet.

 

“Bishop, Hill, Coulson, Ward, and Wilson, Tripp and Mack are second cousins and Sam’s their fourth cousin; they’re Wilsons. Maria and Melinda are third cousins, twice removed.” Phil sliced his big burger in half, dark sauce running out the sides.

 

“Incest central,” Tony said, snagging some of their fries. “Everyone is related to everyone.  Bishop’s first wife was a Hill, and Banner’s father was a Ward and a Bishop. You need a flowchart to straighten it all out. You should have Pepper tell you the Coyote story.”

 

Clint went for the burger whole, taking a big bite of the tender beef. The flavor hit his tongue and he moaned a little in delight. “Oh, God, this is good.”

 

“Want to try the chicken sausage?” Phil turned the half he’d already bitten into and offered it to Clint. Switching, Clint took it and the spice of the marsala sauce covered his taste buds, followed by the juiciness of patty. He closed his eyes and savored, sliding his leg along Phil’s under the table from the pure pleasure of it.

 

“Okay, I’m sold. That’s freakin’ amazing.” Clint glanced over at Tony’s ladened burger, dripping cheese out the sides.

 

“Nope. This baby’s all mine,” Tony said, moving it away from Clint. “Pepper will give you a taste of her veggie thing. I refuse to call anything without meat a burger.”

 

“You really should eat more vegetables and fruit. It’s good for you,” Pepper said with a smile.

 

“Pepper’s healthy. Me, I like grease,” Tony waved his burger and a spot appeared on his shirt. “So, what’s new in your life, Coulson? Have you found yourself a boy toy … oh, shit.” Tony began to chuckle. “This is a date, isn’t it?”

 

“I told you we should get our own table,” Pepper told him. “Maybe we still should.”

 

“And have Tony shout at us across the bar?” Phil said. “Might as well stay.”

 

Clint took another bite of burger and let the tingle of sexual awareness ride in his gut. All told, for a first date this was pretty damn good.

* * *

 

“I move thousands of miles away from New York and Tony Stark shows up. What are the odds?” Clint turned off main street and headed towards Phil’s house. Dinner had actually ended up being more fun than Clint had expected; Stark was in a good mood, telling stories about skiing mishaps. Watching Phil snark back and forth with the billionaire made him all the more hotter in Clint’s eyes. Turned out that Coulson had a wicked sense of humor; Clint had laughed more in the hour and a half than he had in months.

 

“Small world, small town,” Phil replied. His arm lay across the window sill as he turned to look Clint’s way. “Look at the two of us. Afghanistan for you, Iraq for me. I went for Chicago afterwards before I came back here. How impossible is it that we’re sitting in the car together now?”

 

“If you start with the ‘ships in the night,’ I’m going to have to kick you out right here.” Clint grinned. “I’m the cheesy lines, guy. Not that they work that well; I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships. Just FYI.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Phil said as they turned into his driveway. Clint killed the engine and pocketed the key out of habit. “See that window with the light on next door? That’s Mildred DePriest, my eighth grade English teacher. Across the street are the Andersons, Peter and Frieda with their two kids, Caroline, a sophomore, and Neil, a senior. Within eyeshot is Reverend Harlin’s living room and Doctor Banner’s bungalow. Yet another benefit of living in a small town.”

 

“And the fact that everyone’s related to you doesn’t help either.” Clint turned to Phil. “You should tell me that story some day, the one about a coyote.”

 

“How about you walk me to the door instead?” Phil asked.

 

“Um, yeah, about that. I sort of always rush things and, well, I kind of don’t want to do that with you. Not that I don’t want to do it with you -- hell, you’ve been the feature presentation in my dreams for the last two weeks since we met -- but I don’t want to fuck this up without seeing what it could be.” The words came out in rush, spilling over one another. “I mean, I like this place, the people, the job … you … and I don’t want to do my usual and mess it all up by jumping the gun.”

 

Phil’s face lightened; the corners of his lips quirked up into a crooked smile. “My mistake is moving too slow, second thinking every decision, keeping too much to myself. I don’t want to do that with you either. What I want to do is kiss you goodnight on the back porch where no one can see us.”

 

Popping open the door, Clint grinned back. “Would you like an escort? To make sure you get inside safely?”

 

A flagstone path circled the wide covered porch of the Victorian home. The driveway ended in front of a separate garage; they skirted the edge of the structure and came to a gate in the white board fence that opened into a wide backyard. The fence was only waist high, more for decoration and to use to tie up the various plants. Crocus were starting to stick their green shoots up from fresh mulch, mixed in next patches of phlox. White lattice blocked the side of the porch, blue green leaves winding up the side. A single light in a bronze lamp burned by the hunter green door.

 

“Strategic planting,” Clint commented to hide his sudden awkwardness. “Nice job creating a blind.”

 

“First thing my dad put up when my grandparents moved back East. He hated everyone knowing what was going on.” Phil stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet on the braided rug. “The rule was we had to be home by midnight but we could sit in the swing as long as we liked. Kissed my first boy right here.”

 

“Beats under the bleachers in a dark gym.” Clint wasn’t sure if he was supposed to make the first move or wait for Phil.

 

They took a step closer at the exact same moment then both chuckled. Phil reached out and took Clint’s hand, winding their fingers together as he lifted it up. “I really like your hands,” he said, dipping his head to brush his lips along the knuckles. “Knobby and strong and very sexy.” He kissed the back lightly, turned and kissed Clint’s wrist. A throb of heat shot up Clint’s arm as the tip of Phil’s tongue swiped along the tender skin there. “I keep thinking of what they’d feel like, gripping my hips as I fuck you.”

 

“Aw, hell, Phil. That’s not taking things slow,” Clint complained as the warmth flared throughout. “I thought this was going to be just a kiss.”

 

“Then kiss me.”

 

Leaning in, only an inch difference in height, the first touch was a graze, barely the passing of breath. Clint drew back, eyes opened, close enough to see the green and grey flecks in Phil’s irises, then he dipped in again, sliding his mouth across Phil’s before he stopped again. A kind of magic hung between them, the darkness of the night, the pale light of the waning moon, isolated from the world, from their responsibilities, their fingers still tightly interlaced.

 

Clint’s free hand found Phil’s waist and tugged; this kiss moved on from tentative to sure, made bold by Phil’s hitched breathing and the pliant way he aligned his body with Clint’s. Lips parted and Clint got his first real taste of Phil, all whiskey and spice and a hint of salt. So many nooks to explore, expanses of skin, rough whiskers to feel -- Clint could spend the whole night just cataloguing the way Phil kissed.

 

But he didn’t. He drew back with a sigh that was half-content and half-frustrated. “I should really go. I don’t want to, but I should.”

 

“When are you off again? My week is crazy; tomorrow is the Spring Formal, Sunday’s First Presbyterian’s annual fish fry, there’s the Arts & Crafts fair on Tuesday night to raise money for the art & music program, basketball games on Monday and Wednesday, and a school board meeting on Thursday night.” Phil’s thumb traced circles on Clint’s wrist as his listed his schedule. “It’s my turn to take you out.”

 

“I’m working  every day starting tomorrow and taking double shifts on Thursday and Friday since Trip’s driving his grandmother to see his cousin’s new baby down in Idaho Falls.” Crazy was the right word to describe his life. “Shift ends at 8 a.m on Saturday. If I’m home by nine, I should be up by four.”

 

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at five.” Phil sighed. “Being a responsible adult sucks sometimes.”

 

“Amen. But, hey, we could catch coffee or dinner or something quick during the week. Darcy’s staffing the Sheriff Department’s booth at the fair on Tuesday and Natasha wants me to make some chili to sell, so I’ll be there. We can at least share a bowl.” Clint didn’t want to tear himself away from this moment even though he knew he had to.

 

“Sounds good. I’ll text you and we’ll make time.” Phil squeezed Clint’s hand.

 

Neither one of them made a move to leave.

 

“Right. That’ll work.” Clint could swear Phil’s eyes reflected the crescent moon.

 

And still they stood, hands clasped, close together. Then Clint closed the distance and kissed Phil again, a needy kiss that demanded another in return. When they stepped back this time, they dropped hands, both knowing it was time.

 

“Miss DePriest’s probably counting the minutes we’re back here.” Phil sounded a bit breathless. “She was in her kitchen, puttering about.”

 

“The garden club will know by midnight that you’ve been kissing the sheriff,” Clint agreed.

 

“The Bishop Reading Circle,” Phil corrected. “She’s the head of it. They just finished reading 50 Shades of Grey; it’s all Mildred at school could talk about.”

 

Why that struck Clint as funny, he couldn’t say, but laughter bubbled up and he couldn’t stop it. “Oh, God,” he said. “What have I gotten myself into?”

 

“We’ll just have to find out now, won’t we?” Phil replied.

 

Clint didn’t resist the urge for one last quick kiss before he turned to go. “Soon,” he said.

 

“Soon,” Phil promised.

 

The taste of Phil clung to his lips the whole way home.

* * *

 

“So you’re saying Dennis wasn’t on drugs?” Grant asked as Bruce showed them the tox report.

 

“I’m saying it’s nothing that we’ve seen before.” Bruce pulled up a graph on his tablet. “They tested for all the normal drugs, then ran the screen again for anything unusual. I asked them to also do a full panel and that’s where things got interesting.” He swiped another graph into view. Look at the elevated levels of radionuclides and testosterone. Combine that with low serotonin and you’ve got an explosion waiting to happen.”

 

“Okay, what would cause these results?” Clint studied the graph. “The hormones and neurotransmitters could be part of mental disorder, right? Depression or anxiety. But what makes the body produce radionuclides?”

 

“Radiation.” Bruce laid the tablet down. “I need more tests including a cat scan and a full metabolic work up, but I suspect Dennis was exposed to a gamma source sometime recently.”

 

“Whoa,” Clint said. “Back up there. Radiation? Please tell me there’s a natural way this could happen and we’re not going down the rabbit hole of terrorist conspiracies.”

 

“There are old mines dotted all over the mountains, not to mention extensive cave systems. The kids go in them all the time despite every warning.” Melinda sat back and crossed her arms across her chest, thinking about it. “I remember my grandfather telling stories about glowing cavern walls and deep warm pools.”

 

“Potassium-40 is in a lot of our meats, in very low levels. Bananas as well. Periodically, companies come in looking for minerals, chasing rumors of caches around here. Could be that Dennis stumbled into one. Didn’t he say he and some friends had been camping the weekend before? We should retrace their path and see what we find.” Bruce continued to scroll through the data.

 

“Any luck on finding the father?” Clint asked Grant. The deputy had been tasked with tracking down the missing patriarch of the clan. The longer he was missing, the more uneasy Clint felt.

 

“No a trace. I’ve been to all his usual haunts, checked the hospitals … if he’s gone on one of his walkabouts, the odds of finding him until he wants to be found are slim to none.” Grant shook his head, obviously frustrated with the lack of results. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think the worst, Clint. Bobby actually gave me some locations to check out; he’s getting worried.”

 

“We need to get Dennis to tell us where he was. I’m not buying the friends story; none of the usual suspects admit to being out with him. Whatever he was doing, I’m betting his father was along.” Clint pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’ll take another go at questioning him. His lawyer said they’re having trouble finding a suitable placement home; CYS is looking as far as Butte. Seems the boys have been in and out of the system too much; everyone knows them.”

 

“Sheriff Hot Pants!”

 

The shout was loud and clear as Clint entered the squad room. Standing by Darcy’s desk was Wade Wilson, his scarred face under a John Deere cap. Wilson told a different story to each person who asked about how he got the distinct web of deformed tissue; no one knew the real tale. Sitting on the counter was the strangest … thing … Clint had ever seen. A silver metal bucket sprouted crowbars adorned with seed packets, a hammer tied up with a bow, and several screwdrivers all decorated to look like flowers. Nails, screws, and … was that a toilet plunger? … other hardware were scattered inside.

 

“Wilson, we’ve talked about this.” Last thing Clint wanted to do was deal with the man’s very obvious, very loud crush on him. For some reason, Wade had immediately taken to Clint, trailing after him and declaring his undying love. Clint wasn’t entirely sure if Wilson was serious or just maintaining a running joke at Clint’s expense.

 

“Right, right, terms of endearment are only for when we’re alone, my beloved. However, since we’re never alone, I must use them when I can.” He grinned, the skin pulling along his cheek. “I have brought you a bouquet. Flowers die, but you can use this stuff all year round.”

 

“It’s kinda neat,” Darcy said, looking at the unique arrangement. “You ever think of selling these in the store? Make a good gift for someone.”

 

“As I’ve explained before, I can’t take gifts; it’s a conflict of interest.” Clint had tried going over this but Wade had his own understanding of things.

 

“Not to mention he’s already got a boyfriend,” Darcy added. Clint shot her a quelling look; she wiggled her eyebrows in response. Obviously, Clint had little control over his staff.

 

“Alas and alack, I am aware of the good principal’s suit. Still, I would be a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter’s night … I can’t fight this feeling anymore …” Wade sang the last line; his voice wasn’t bad, but life wasn’t a musical.

 

“Hey, I know,” Darcy interrupted. “Why don’t you donate this to the silent auction at the Fair? Get some publicity for the store and see if anyone’s interested? Could be the start of a side business.”

 

“Beauty and brains! We can do that. I’ll go make up some signs. Hey, can I use your color printer?” Ever changeable, Wade’s mood lightened. “So, when am I going to get my helper back? The store’s a mess and the spring rush is on us.”

 

“Not for a while, I’m afraid.” Clint glanced over at Ward who’d gone to check on Dennis. “They’re looking for a place for him to stay until his father is found.”

 

“Old Man Johnston’s probably drunk in a hollow somewhere and the oldest brother’s causing trouble down at Brock’s place. Pieces of shit, both of ‘em.” Wade wrinkled his nose. “Dennis is a good kid. Just needs a break.” He stopped then his eyes widened. “I know! He can stay with me. I’ll clean the couch off and he can crash there. I guess he can’t go back to school for a bit so I’ll set him to organizing the storeroom and the loading dock.”

 

“I think you’d need to be registered as a foster parent with the CYS,” Clint said.

 

“He is.” Melinda walked past, coming in from her patrol. “Wade’s taken in a number of kids over the years. That’s a perfect solution for Dennis. I’ll contact Walters.”

 

Despite being Sunday, the process moved fast once Melinda placed the call. Within an hour, Jennifer arrived with the paperwork and they were able to bring Dennis to the interview room. Shoulders slumped and feet shuffling, the teen blinked twice when he saw Wade sitting at the table then managed a smile when he realized he was going home with Wilson.

 

“Couch has a broken spring and is lumpy,” Wade told Dennis as the boy sat down. “And there’s nothing but beer in the fridge -- which of course you are too young to drink -- so it’s water for you.”

 

“Dennis, we need to ask you a few more questions before you go.” Clint eased into what he needed to know. “Did you go into a cave or a mine shaft when you were out camping?”

 

Eyes widened and Dennis tensed up. He glanced over at Jennifer. “I don’t … maybe? Does it matter?”

 

“It could be important. Dr. Banner found some unusual readings on your tests; you might have been exposed to something while you were in the mountains. If we can find what it is, we can understand what happened.” Clint soothed his voice; he needed the teen to tell him the truth. “And if anyone else went in with you. They might be in danger.”

 

“Danger?” Dennis asked. “Do you think he could hurt himself? Or someone else like I almost did?”

 

The masculine pronoun didn’t escape Clint but he let it slide for a minute. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

 

“What are you offering?” Jennifer put a hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “My client is underage, remember.”

 

No anger there, just the lawyer trying to protect the teen. “I’m interested in protecting lives, Dennis, not bringing more charges against you. If there’s something in that cave causing people to get sick, I want to find and isolate it.”

 

Jennifer nodded and Dennis finally spoke. “It’s one of my Da’s stashes. He has a bunch of them in the mountains. He’s convinced that we’ll need the stuff when the next world war comes. I carried in some crates and stacked ‘em up; Da’s leg was acting up and he didn’t go further than the opening.” He paused. “Most of its water and those space meals in tin foil. Lots of cans. But some of it ... “

 

“I don’t care what’s in the crates right now, Dennis. I just need to know where the cave is.” Clint could imagine what was stored for the future. Guns, alcohol, drugs … probably some of it stolen.

 

“I know the coordinates. Neither Da nor Bobby can work the GPS thing, so I have to remember them all.”

 

“That’s good. Let me write it down and then you can head on out with Wade and have some pizza for dinner.”

* * *

 

“Hey, pup, you stay out of trouble while I was gone? Scare away some squirrels?” Clint tossed his keys into the pottery bowl on the kitchen counter. Lucky wound around his feet every step of the way, short little barks in the way of greeting, happy Clint was home. In just a few days, the dog had wrapped himself around Clint’s heart, hobbling through the house with the hard cast on his back leg. Hair was starting to grow back in, making him look like a patchwork quilt of black and brown. Clint had to carry him up the stairs to the bedroom, but he was into everything downstairs, from the cabinets to crawling up on the couch. With his crazy hours, Clint had arranged for one of the young vet techs to drop by the house once or twice a day depending upon his schedule. Mary Jane, a sweet redhead in her early twenties, made sure Lucky got some play time and his medicine, wearing the dog out so Clint didn’t find ripped up pillows and puddles.

 

They’d found the cave and cordoned the area off, but couldn’t go in without the right protective gear. Bruce had called a friend up at the University of Montana; they were driving down with testing equipment first thing in the morning from Missoula. Seeing Dennis off safely with Ward and stationing a watch over the cave to keep interested parties … i.e. teens and nosy locals and reporters …. away from the site, Clint had finally managed to call it a day just after the sun had set.

 

“I know, I know.” Clint took the special food out of the cabinet and filled Lucky’s silver bowl. The dog’s head immediately dropped and he began wolfing the chunks down. Moving to the fridge, Clint took out a beer and popped the top, sipping a long drink. Then he gathered up Lucky’s leash; the dog was finished by the time Clint took off his badge and gun and stored them in the drawer. “Alright, mutt, let’s take a walk.”

 

They usually circled the house a couple times, keeping within the glow of the outdoor lights. Lucky stopped to sniff everything, straining at the end of the leash; he perked up at every rustle of branches and barked at nothing because he could. Taking care of business quickly, Lucky wanted to play; Clint let him gambol about, tossing a neon bright ball and laughing as the puppy tumbled after it. The combination of uneven ground and broken leg slowed Lucky down enough that Clint could take a few steps and scoop him up.

 

Suddenly, Lucky ducked behind Clint’s legs and began to growl, his eyes on the forest beyond the light. Clint squinted into the darkness, but saw nothing.

 

“Something out there? See a rabbit?” Clint chuckled at the little guy, standing with his feet planted. Maybe it was the wolf come back to visit; Clint had seen the grey hybrid a few times since his first night in the house, passing through the trees.

 

With a loud whine, Lucky scuttled back towards the house until he jerked the leash to its full length. Clint bent and picked up the dog; Lucky nosed his head under Clint’s arm and hid his face.

 

“Okay, scaredy cat.” Clint scratched behind Lucky’s ear. “We’ll go inside.”

 

The howl was close enough to raise the hackles on the back of Clint’s neck. Lucky squirmed and whined. Glancing back, Clint saw a shadow detach from the darkness and lope out into the yard, black fur bristling as it circled the deck. Too big for a wolf, too small for a bear, it stayed just outside the edges of light, indistinct in the night.

 

Backing up slowly, Clint instinctively knew this wasn’t the same kind of animal as his grey wolf. Neurons fired and Clint’s fight or flight kicked in; he’d left his gun inside and Lucky was too young to be left on his own, so flight it was. Keeping a steady eye on the animal, Clint eased closer to the house, one step at a time. It tracked his movement, winding through the trees, growing indistinct and then solidifying again as it came back towards the light. Then it jerked its head around, staring up the mountain.

 

A growl, deep building to a crescendo, came from further out in the woods. Clint knew the sound of a big cat when he heard it; he took the distraction and darted to the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. Immediately, Lucky began squirming to get down; as soon as his paws touched the wooden floor, he started barking his little heart out.

 

“Now you’re an attack dog,” Clint told him. “I’ve got to stop and buy a new shotgun.”

 

He grabbed his pistol and planted himself in front of the windows. Only an idiot would wander out into the middle of two wild animals; he might have been living in a city, but Clint had been born on a farm. Respect animals and never forget how quickly they could kill you. But in the time it had taken for Clint to get inside, the shadowy creature had disappeared. Instead, a mountain lion slinked into the light’s glow, sleek with a determined stride, its coat golden with smoky patches of dark grey fading to black along its tail. Stalking along the deck’s edge, the cat sniffed the ground, tail twitching and ears perked up. It made a circuit around the house -- Clint following from window to window -- then padded up to the deck doors and sat on its haunches. Dark chocolate eyes targeted in on him, not distracted by Lucky’s antics.

 

A wild cougar was just on the other side of two panes of glass, but Clint relaxed, tension bleeding out of his body. Intelligence shown in the brown depths of the big cats eyes; it simply sat there, a rumbling purr loud enough for Clint to hear, for a full minute before it turned and jumped from the bottom level to the top and then into the woods.

 

“Good God. A wolf and now a mountain lion. I’m collecting pets.” Clint walked over to the counter and put his gun back in its place. Lucky nipped at his heels then stopped to noisily lap up water from his bowl, the fear of a few minute ago already forgotten. “First thing tomorrow. Shotgun and fence. A heavy, chain link fenced in area for you to do your business. Damn it, I’ve got to be out at the cave site early; I’ll have to call Steve and get him to do it for me. We’ll be out there all day. And I need to go to the grocery store to get the fixings for chili.” Clint sighed. The dog just stared up at him, tongue hanging out of his mouth. “You don’t care. You’ve eaten, peed and pooped and got to bark at things. I wish life were that simple for me.”

 

Sleep was a long time coming despite Clint’s tiring day. He lay awake and contemplated the stars, the image of the shadow burned on the back of his eyelids. When he did drift off, he dreamed of it stalking him through the woods, down the street and into the station. Phil blocked its path then Melinda then Steve, but it kept coming.. With a gasp, he woke, sweat soaked sheets twisted around him and Lucky whining from his bed. Scooping up the pup, Clint let the warm heat of the dog’s body lull him back to sleep. Just once, he thought. He’d let Lucky on the bed this time.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnston’s eyes focused on Clint’s face for a second then darted around to where Phil had moved into position on his left flank and Mack on his right. “Nobody listens. They all think I’m crazy. Coulsons and Wilsons and Hills. Too good to take advice from white trash like me. Well, they’re going to pay now.”
> 
> “I’m not a Coulson or a Wilson or a Hill. In fact, I don’t belong to any of the families. I don’t think you’re crazy; I don’t even know you yet. Give me a chance to make my own decision. Let me hear your side.” Clint closed the distance, trying to get within an arm’s length.
> 
> “You’re the new sheriff.” The more Johnston talked to Clint, the more his volume dropped and his voice leveled out. “From New York City. Big town detective slumming it in the country? You don’t know shit, boy, about what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to get a chapter or so ahead before finals hit. Lots of grading to do but this story has me by the short and curlies so it's not going away. The middle has worked itself out and it's looking like about ten - twelve pages total to get to the resolution. Thanks everyone for all the kind words as this world takes over my life! :)
> 
> Trigger warning: this chapter contains violent language and threats. It's no more than you'd see in an episode of Agents of SHIELD, but just be careful if you have an issue with that. Things are starting to spiral out of control for Clint.

 

“Hey, Sheriff Barton, this chili’s good!” Teddy Altman paused between bites. “Better than my mom’s, that’s for sure.”

 

“I’m going to tell her you said that,” Billy Kaplan, Teddy’s partner-in-more-than-crime said. “You’re already in the doghouse for crashing the ATV.”

 

“Aren’t you the loving boyfriend,” Cassie Lang, her leg in a walking cast, shot back. Standing next to her, Kate Bishop looked distracted, her eyes scanning the crowd.

 

“Hey, I’ve got to get back in her good graces or I’ll never see Teddy again,” Billy complained, tossing his own empty styrofoam bowl into the garbage can. “She’s tough on the rules.”

 

“Where is Tommy?” Kate bounced on her feet to catch a glimpse of the gym door. “He’s later than usual. I’m going to go look for him.”

 

“Tommy’s just being Tommy,” Billy told her, following her into the crowd, Teddy by his side. “You know he’s going to be late to his own …” Their voices faded away.

 

“Um, Sheriff Barton? I just wanted to say thank you. For finding us and being so nice about it.” Cassie blushed, her cheeks going red. “It was pretty scary being out there.”

 

“No problem. Just be more careful next time and head home before dark.” Clint smiled at the blonde teen. She bobbed her head then hurried off after her friends.

 

“You have an admirer,” Natasha told him as she watched the retreating back. “At that age, you’d be a knight in shining armor … or polished khaki or whatever you were wearing that night. I can see why she’d take a liking to you.”

 

“It’s the savior complex. Happens a lot but doesn’t last long. Especially once she finds out.” Clint spooned up a couple more bowls and lined them up on the folding card table that was their booth. The whole gym floor was covered by various tables, from Darcy dressed in full hunting garb handing out fliers on gun safety to Susan Phillips’ handcrafted pottery. Theoretically, Clint knew there was a thriving art community in the area, thus the Bitterroot Festival, but he didn’t realize the rich variety of wares available until he saw them displayed throughout the space. Paintings, glass work, furniture -- Clint had his eye on a wooden porch swing to hang up on the bedroom balcony for lazy Sunday mornings if he ever had one -- and food galore. Even a winery from up in Darby was doing a brisk business selling their Sitting Bull Petite Sirah.

 

“Oh, the whole town knows that you’re dating Phil. The question is whether you’re gay or bi.” Natasha sat out a couple bottles Crater Lake Vanilla Creme soda by the other flavors. “Most of the single women have set their cap to find out and about a third of the men are waiting in the wings. You, Clint, are a rare commodity: an unattached, unrelated male.”

 

“Great.” Clint smiled at the family that came up to the table. He chatted briefly, learning their names and where they lived as he served them. “And I’ll probably always be the new kid in town.”

 

“Get used to it. Of course, you could always take up with Wade. That would set tongues to wagging.” She nodded over to where Wilson’s hardware bouquet was mixed among the other auction items. “He seems to have quite the crush on you.”

 

Clint’s only reply was a glare; she just laughed, tossing red curls as she bent over for more bags of corn chips. For a bit they were inundated with customers, and the level of chili steadily dropped in the massive pot. All too soon, Clint was scraping the bottom to get the last bits out for one more bowl as the flow lessened to a trickle.

 

“So,” Natasha began, sitting back in one of the folding chairs provided. “Just why are you here, Clinton Francis Barton?”

 

It was a variation of a question he’d gotten a lot. “Do you want the standard short answer or the complex long one? I’ve got the sanitized version and sexy one.”

 

“How about the truth?” She turned those sparkling green eyes his way and looked right through him. “What do you want out of life?”

 

“Hell if I know.” Clint shrugged and started gathering up the extra bowls and spoons. He glanced across the gym and saw Kate Bishop laughing as she tried on some earrings at Park Su Lin’s booth, Cassie beside her. “I want …” Tommy bumped into Billy and the boys wrestled until Mack threw them a look. “To find lost kids and bring them home.”

 

“Like someone did for you.” Natasha made it a statement, not a question. “Or didn’t do.”

 

“I pulled myself out. It’s a lot easier with help.” It didn’t surprise him that she knew about his past. His resume and history had been part of his application file that went to every member of the town council.

 

“An admirable goal. But why here?” she pushed.

 

Phil crossed his line of vision, dark navy suit fitted to his trim figure. He moved with purpose, the man behind the curtain making the night run smoothly. Rubbing his thumb across his fingers, Clint remembered Phil’s touch, the weight of his hand. “Honestly, I’m here to listen to what the mountain has to say.” He chuckled as he heard his own words. “Wow, that sounds cheesey. Pretend I never said it.”

 

“Nope. Now I know you’re a closet romantic.” She punched him lightly in the arm. “It’s a good answer; don’t be embarrassed. You’ll find lots of people around here have respect for the animals and the land.”

 

“Yeah, well, I seem to be turning into Doctor Dolittle, so why not a mountain man?” Clint said. “When the animals start replying is when I call it …”

 

“I told you! All of you! You didn’t listen!” The man’s voice was loud, carrying across the high ceiling and bouncing off the cement walls. “We are trespassers and our time has run out.”

 

Unkempt hair, jeans caked with mud, and unlaced boots, Alexander Johnston looked wildly at the people around him. He wore a battered neon orange hunting vest, his arms bore long scratches and caked blood and were decorated with black and blue bruises. People around him scattered, stepping away from his flailing arms.

 

“We’ll pay for our sins; it’s coming, coming to wipe away all of us, to drag us under and watch us drown!” Saliva flew from his mouth as he spoke, his words tumbling out, sounding the beginning of an avalanche. Clint knew all the signs; Johnston was coming unhinged. He just hoped the man wasn’t too far gone to reason with.

 

“Mr. Johnston.” Clint stepped out from behind his table and walked calm, slowly, into the man’s vision range. “I want to listen to you, hear what you have to say. Let’s go into the office and you can tell me all about what’s coming.”

 

Johnston’s eyes focused on Clint’s face for a second then darted around to where Phil had moved into position on his left flank and Mack on his right.  “Nobody listens. They all think I’m crazy. Coulsons and Wilsons and Hills. Too good to take advice from white trash like me. Well, they’re going to pay now.”

 

“I’m not a Coulson or a Wilson or a Hill. In fact, I don’t belong to any of the families. I don’t think you’re crazy; I don’t even know you yet. Give me a chance to make my own decision. Let me hear your side.” Clint closed the distance, trying to get within an arm’s length.

 

“You’re the new sheriff.” The more Johnston talked to Clint, the more his volume dropped and his voice leveled out. “From New York City. Big town detective slumming it in the country? You don’t know shit, boy, about what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

 

“I want to know. I want to protect these people from danger. I just need you to talk to me.” Clint motioned to the double doors that led out into one of the school hallways. “Let’s go sit down and I’ll get you something to drink, some food, and you can tell me.”

 

A bottle of Creme Soda appeared next to Clint, Natasha holding it out for him. She also had the last bowl of chili and a big piece of cornbread: Johnston’s nose twitched and Clint clearly heard his stomach growl.

 

“Not going to help to know,” he mumbled, shuffling closer. “But maybe I could …”

 

Natasha was already walking to the doorway before the man finished his sentence. Clint led the way, pushing the bar to open the door so Johnston could follow. Behind him, Mack hung back to avoid being seen, but Clint didn’t see Phil anywhere. he must have taken a different exit route.

 

“You helped my boy.” Johnston stopped in the empty hallway once the door swung shut. “Wade’ll do him fine. Better than I could.”

 

“Dennis is a good kid,” Clint agreed, glad to see Johnston evening out . “It was the damn cave that made him sick. There’s radiation down in there; anyone who’s been inside has been exposed.”

 

“Not radiation. Shadows. That’s what’s down there. Shadows of the past. Old. Very old power. It’s waking up and it’s angry.” His eyes grew indistinct. “Too late for me, too late for everyone.”

 

“You can tell me while you eat.” Clint wanted to reach out, but was afraid it would set him off again. “A full stomach will help.”

 

“... to go fuck yourself!” Tommy came skidding around the corner at a run, laughing as he glanced behind. “No way are you getting this back, Kaplan!”

 

“I’m going to kill you, dude.” Billy was right behind, Teddy only a step or two off his pace. Blowing by Clint and the others, Tommy, Billy, and Teddy were halfway down the hall before Kate and Cassie caught up.

 

“Jesus, will you to grow up?” Kate shouted at the retreating forms. “Seriously, I think they were dropped on their heads as infants.” She stopped and realized who was standing there. “Oh, Sheriff. Sorry. They’re just being stupid.”

 

“It’s okay. Why don’t you two go find them and keep them from hurting anyone,” Clint said, hoping they’d follow his advice and leave quickly, but that was not to happen.

 

“Spawn of evil!” Johnston darted forward and grabbed Kate by the hair, yanking her back against him. A hand dug into one of the vest pockets and came out with a black rectangular device. “It’s all your fault, the greed and hatred so loud you called it out.”

 

“Um, hey, whatever, okay?” Kate stilled, her shocked eyes trained on Clint. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. Johnston.”

 

“Alexander.” Clint held out his hands in the universal gesture of calm. “Let her go. Remember we were going to eat and you were going to tell me all about it.”

 

“No. It’s better this way. Faster. Cleaner. No need to suffer the torment. Just a fast blast and we’re done.” He passed the device to his other hand and Clint recognized a trigger switch held in the shaky fingers. Johnston’s thumb pressed on the button and curled it tight into the fist he was using to hold Kate tight. “Dead man switch. You know how it works.”

 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To die now?” Clint carefully inched forward every time Kate squirmed, taking advantage of Johnston’s distracted attempts to hold her still. “Before it comes.”

 

Johnston’s hand dipped back in a pocket and he came out with a pistol that he pointed at Kate’s temple. She shivered and stilled, her eyes going wide.

 

“Please, Mr. Johnston.” She curled a hand around the arm that held her, the second one over the fist with the detonator. “Don’t hurt me.”

 

“It’s a kindness. You ain’t done nothing yet, but you will. It’s in your nature. A leopard can’t change it’s spots and you’ll always be a Bishop,” Johnston said.

 

With Natasha just to his left, Clint caught the movement of Phil in his peripheral vision, silently approaching from Johnston’s blind spot, a hockey stick in his hands. He needed to play for time. “How do I know that button does anything?”

 

Bending his elbow, Johnston pushed his an edge of his vest open. For a second the gun dipped, but his finger was still on the trigger, so Clint stayed in place. Inside, tied around bottom, was a row of dynamite, sticks connected by a fraying wire. The paper around the TNT was yellowing in places, granules flecked in places on the outside. Clint began to sweat as he realized just how old the sticks were; they were a danger just sitting there.

 

“No more time.” Johnston’s finger tightened around the trigger. “The shadow is here.”

 

“Alex. Don’t do this.” Natasha spoke, accent heavy on her words. “The Mountains haven’t spoken for her yet. We may be judged for our actions, but you can’t take her journey for her.”

 

“I … It’s in me. I can’t …”  He suddenly seemed lucid, his eyes clear. “I’ve done my boys wrong. I know that now.”

 

The gun wavered; in one swift move, Johnston lifted the gun to his own head. Before he got the muzzle to his chin, Clint was in motion, reaching for Kate. Phil swung the hockey stick, catching Johnston’s arm and knocking his gun hand away. The bullet flew at an angle, skittering off the metal of the lockers. Grabbing Kate’s arm, Clint pulled her out of Johnston’s grasp, pivoting so he was between her and the coming blast. The hockey stick swung again; Clint heard it hit with a meaty thunk.

 

“Get back!” Clint yelled at Phil and Natasha as he covered Kate’s body with his own, pinning his hopes on some of the sticks being duds. Dropping them to the floor, he braced himself for the blast.

 

Nothing happened.

 

He opened eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut. Johnston was on the ground, unconscious, a trickle of blood at his temple. Phil stood over him, hockey stick on the ground, chest heaving from the adrenaline rush. Natasha hadn’t moved; she actually looked amused by the whole situation.

 

“Um, thanks and everything for saving me, but could you get off of me now?” Kate’s voice was muffled, her face pressed into the floor.

 

Awkwardly, Clint pushed up and offered Kate his hand. The fist she gave him held the detonator, her thumb firmly the trigger. “Well, hell,” Clint said chuckling. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you.”

 

“I’ll take it,” Natasha said. She passed the bowl of chili over to Clint and then gently transferred the detonator to her hand. “With all the ex-military in town, someone must have bomb disposal experience. Probably ought to call ‘em.”

 

“I can do it.” Clint passed the bowl to Kate. “Clear the building and I”ll need some wire cutters and pliers. Didn’t look too sophisticated.”

 

“Melinda’s already locked down the gym,” Mack said through the cracked door.  “I’ll  get the tools; Skye’ll have her jewelry making kit at her booth.”

 

“Mack, take Kate to Melinda,” Clint ordered. “Tell her we’ll need to interview Kate, so keep her safe.”

 

“Hey! I saved your ass. I don’t need a babysitter,” the teen protested. But she went, a sign she was more scared than she let on.

“We don’t know the range of the transmitter, so you’ll have to stay,” Clint said to Natasha. “Phil, head out and help Melinda …”

 

“Hell with that. Let’s do this.” Phil knelt down on the floor and eased the vest open. “This stuff is ancient. He probably had it stored in that cave.”

 

“Phil. Get out of here.” Clint joined him by Johnston. “You don’t …”

 

“Shut up, Clint and trace this wire. I think it’s the main cord.”

 

* * *

 

Clint yawned, popping his jaw. His watch told him it was 3:30 but the round clock on the wall said 3:24, so he split the difference and called it 3:27. Goddamn early, that’s what it was.

 

He shuffled the last of the witness interviews into their folders and flipped them all closed. There was nothing left to do tonight; tests had been ordered, the scene cordoned off, the bomb safely disposed of. School had been cancelled for tomorrow … today … as much to calm the situation as any forensic need. So he pushed back his chair and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. His t-shirt rode up as he circled his fingers around his left wrist and bent to the right. The same to the left, Clint felt his spine loosen as he leaned forward from the waist and then rolled up slowly, arching his back like a cat.

 

“Well, I’m awake now.” Phil stood in the doorway of the station’s conference room. He’d lost his jacket at some point as well as his tie. Two buttons open, his collar loose and his sleeves rolled up, Phil put his hands on his hips and smiled at Clint. “Though you look half-asleep.”

 

“I’m heading home to catch a few hours. You should do the same.” Clint didn’t stop stretching, dropping into a lunge, shifting back and forth. “Tomorrow will come all too soon.”

 

“Yeah, about that.” Phil shut the door as he stepped further in. “Been awhile since I’ve been in a life or death situation. I’d forgotten how it feels after .. the itchiness beneath the skin and the jitters. I always hated being alone while I came down from the high.”

 

God, did Clint understand. He’d get keyed up before a mission and it would take a long time to wind down. Being alone meant time to think about all the what ifs and might have beens. “The more you chase sleep, the further away it gets.”

 

“Want company?” Phil took a breath. “I don’t mean it as a euphemism, just someone’s pulse to count and remind you everything ended well.”

 

“God, yes. My place? No one will see your car ‘cause I have room in the garage.” The thought of Phil in his bed, the warmth of his body, was more than Clint had expected to have tonight. “And here I thought you were the one who moved slowly.”

 

“We’re both changing our ways,” Phil replied. “I’m going to stop by the house, grab a few things. I’ve got a meeting at 9 a.m. in the morning.”

 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Clint promised.

 

No one argued when he announced he was off to get some sleep. Trip had taken watch over Johnston and Ward was on night shift, so things were covered. If Clint drove a little fast, well, he had Lucky to think of. Poor thing had gotten dinner when Mary Jane dropped by, but the pup would be ready to go out. His speed had nothing to do with wanting to get there before Phil to fill the dishwasher and pick up some dirty laundry.  He made it in plenty of time; he was outside with an energetic puppy when Phil pulled up and into the garage.

 

“So this is Lucky.” Phil stopped far short of where the dog sat on its haunches, head tilted up as it eyed the newcomer.

 

Lucky growl rumbled in his chest then he barked twice.

 

“Hey, be nice,” Clint told the dog. “Sorry. He’s a mess right now with all the missing hair and he’s still spooked a bit from the other night. We ran into some of the local wildlife in the yard.”

 

“Ah, thus the new fence. Wade was crowing about it down at Moe’s.” Phil squatted down and held his hand out. Lucky edged back; when Phil didn’t move, the puppy’s nose twitched and he inched forward. “He seems to think this means you’re engaged or something.”

 

“Oh God,” Clint said. “How do I get him to lay off? He’s driving me crazy.”

 

“Only thing to do with Wade is wait him out. He’ll move on eventually.” Phil waited patiently as Lucky edged his way to sniff Phil’s fingers. The dog paused, thought about it, then ducked his head under to let Phil scratch his ears. “That’s it,” Phil said to Lucky. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

 

Taking Phil at his word, Lucky plopped on the grass and rolled onto his back, paws splayed “Great watchdog you are,” Clint told the puppy. “You’d sell me out for a tummy rub. Well, at least you’ve got good taste, dumb dog.”

 

Phil chuckled then stood up. “He’s going to be big. Look at those paws.”

“Yeah, well he’s scared of his own shadow. Hid behind my legs when that big black wolf thing was in the yard.” Clint tugged on the leash and Lucky jumped up, following eagerly back to the house. “He only barked at the mountain lion once we were safe behind locked doors.”

 

“Big black wolf?” Phil asked, scraping the bottom of his shoes on the welcome mat before he entered. “When did you see that?”

 

“After we went to the movies. I’m not sure whether it was a wolf or a bear. Never got a good look; it stayed in the shadows.” Clint locked the door. “The mountain lion came right up to the door and said hello.”

 

Phil paused, turning to eye the forest line; he straightened, his shoulders tense as he stared into the darkness. “A small black bear maybe. They’ll be waking up from hibernation hungry. Menaces this time of year.”

 

Part of being a good cop was knowing when someone was holding things back. Black bear or wolf or whatever, Phil was worried about the creature. “Could be. Haven’t seen it or the cougar since. Nor the falcon or the grizzly. Now the grey wolf hybrid? He hangs out here a lot. Somebody’s missing him.”

 

“You sure you’re not Doctor Dolittle?” Phil turned and smiled. “The animal whisperer.”

 

“Laugh it up. That wolf led me right to Cassie and Kate.” Clint let it go; whatever was bothering Phil was his own business, not Clint’s. “You want something to drink? I can offer you Rocky Mountain spring water fresh from the tap or orange juice. Everything else has caffeine in it.”

 

“I’m good.” Phil picked up the small bag he’d brought. “Had enough decaf to last me through tomorrow.”

 

“Why don’t you head on up and I’ll do the circuit.” At the sound of the last word, Lucky barked and danced about in a circle, or at least as much as he could manage with his cast. “Alright, boy, let’s go.”

 

The dog ran to the french doors, clattering across the wood floor and waited for Clint. At each stop to check the locks, Lucky beat Clint by seconds, barking as if he was telling Clint what to do. Four doors, each one secured, system on and armed. Hank Pym had wired the house with state of the art equipment, and Clint had too many bad memories to not take advantage of it.

 

He carried the puppy up the stairs; the bathroom door was closed and he could hear water running. Digging out his sleep pants and an old Aerosmith shirt, Clint waited until Phil emerged in sweatpants and a Rangers shirt, glasses perched on his nose. For a moment, Clint couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound completely awkward; his brain was too busy mentally measuring Phil’s biceps, wondering what sleeping in his arms would feel like, and realizing Clint was about to find out..

 

“I can sleep downstairs if this is too much too soon,” Phil finally said. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“No, no. I’m not … I want you to stay here. With me. I just … yeah.” Clint retreated to the bathroom, brushing by Phil. “I sleep on the right hand side; my alarm’s set for 9. I’ve got to be back by 10 a.m.”

 

He made short work of getting ready for bed, turning the light off as he came out and tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper. Phil was under the patchwork quilt, laying on his back.

 

“I need to leave by 8:30,” Phil told him, watching as Clint checked the gun in the drawer and plugged his cellphone in. “I’ve got my phone alarm on low.”

 

Clint clicked off the bedside lamp and slipped between the sheets. His side was cool but he could feel Phil’s body heat nearby. Glad he’d kept the king sized bed that Pym had rather than switch out for his queen sized, Clint could get comfortable without touching Phil if he wanted to. He didn’t, but making the first move was awkward. Instead, he lay on his back, squirming into a good spot and adjusting the covers.

 

“Wow, that’s a view.” Phil breathed the words out quietly, his eyes pointed up. Through the glass, the stars twinkled. “I can see why Hank put it there.”

 

“Yeah, feels like sleeping outdoors without the hard ground. And he put automatic blinds; I can program the time so the sun doesn’t hit me in the eye in the morning.” Clint rolled on his side; Phil turned his head and smiled at him.

 

“Hank liked electronics; I’m surprised the whole house isn’t automated. Jan must have put her foot down.” Phil slid his arm across the bed and took Clint’s hand. “Are you going to stay over there? I promise I won’t bite.”

 

“Well, now, that’s a bummer. I was looking forward to teeth marks.” Clint scooted closer and Phil’s arm slipped under him, drawing him in. His head fit perfectly on Phil’s shoulder, his body notching in like two puzzle pieces coming together. He hooked his ankle over Phil’s and rested his hand over Phil’s heart. One big breath, and he exhaled the day’s tension, the leftover rush sinking away. Slowly, their breathing synced, metabolisms slowing, and Clint fell into an easy and peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

His toe was wet and cold; something rough passed over it, followed by a strange whine.

 

“Stop licking my foot,” Clint mumbled. Lucky yipped in response and pounced on Clint’s exposed limb that was hanging off the side of the bed. “Damn it, dog. It’s … 7:45. I can get another hour if you let me be.”

 

Rolling over, he ignored the pitiful noise the puppy made at losing his new plaything. The sheets were cooler in the middle as he rearranged himself and his eyes drifted closed again.

 

“Phil.” Clint jerked awake. The sound of water running made him relax. “Damn.”

 

He’d slept hard and deep, only surfacing long enough to shift position once or twice the whole time. Phil had been a comforting weight at his side each time, an anchor that let Clint drift without fear of losing himself. Even now, Clint felt centered and rested; rolling up, he slung his feet over the edge and curved his back, stretching the already relaxed muscles. Lucky nipped at his toes and Clint chuckled at the dog’s antics.

 

“I know, I know. Gotta pee. Let me get some shoes and we’ll go out.” He stood and slipped his bare feet into his favorite pair of ratty running shoes before carrying Lucky down the stairs. Making the pup wait while he scooped coffee into a filter and poured the water in to start the cycle, Clint finally got the leash on and out they went. Lucky only sniffed three tufts of grass before he squatted, taking care of all his business quickly and efficiently. Then he was tugging at the leash to get back inside for his breakfast; bladder empty, his tummy wanted to be full.

 

As Lucky demolished his bowl of food, Clint got out eggs, butter, and leftover bits from yesterday’s chili -- peppers, onions, ancho chilis, and a tail end of chorizo -- dicing them up as he heated a pan and melted the butter. He was halfway through the first omelet, folding in both sides, when Phil came down the stairs at five after eight. Wearing a clean pair of khakis and a striped blue button up, Phil had his suit jacket folded on top of his overnight bag.

 

“Thought you’d need coffee,” Clint said, sliding the omelette out onto a waiting plate. “Want some breakfast?”

 

He turned back to the stove, pouring the other half of the egg mixture to start the next one before he realized Phil was standing at the edge of the counter and staring at him.

 

“What? Is my bed head bad this morning?” Clint grinned. “Sit, eat before it gets cold.”

 

“I tried not to wake you.” Phil finally moved, walking over to the coffee pot; Clint pointed to  cabinet and Phil got down two mugs. “You really don’t have to cook for me.”

 

“Someone woke me up by licking my toes,” Clint explained then added, “Had that been you I doubt we’d be out of bed yet.”

 

Phil flushed, his cheeks going red; the smile that crept across his face lit up his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Promise.”

 

The joke put the both at ease; Clint served up his own breakfast and took the black coffee Phil poured for him. He got out creamer and sugar for Phil then settled on the stool next to him. “What’s on tap for this morning?” Clint asked.

 

“Administrators meeting. We’ve got to decide about tonight’s game and what steps to take next. There’ll be a push for mandatory counseling sessions and safety lectures. We usually run ‘the woods are dangerous’ about this time of year anyway.” Phil steadily polished off the eggs and veggies on his plate. “The school board will want a full report today so they can be ready for questions tomorrow night. Going to be a long day.”

 

“Tell me about it. The press will be out in droves and we’ll be flooded with calls about reporters on people’s lawns. The guy from the CDC is flying in early … should be landing about now in Billings … and a representative of the ATF is coming to check out what we bring up from the cave. The professor from the university is bringing students and safety gear to help clear out the boxes. All while we wait for answers from the lab.” Clint ignored Lucky’s pizza face as he begged for a bite. Phil, on the other hand, dropped a bit of egg from his plate; Lucky caught it before it hit the floor. “Oh, I see. You’re a dog feeder. I’m glad I found this out early in the relationship.”

 

“Is that a deal breaker?” Phil asked, putting his fork across his empty plate. “Because eggs make a dog have a glossy coat and Lucky could use all the help he can get in that area.”

 

“Un-huh, justifying you’re a pushover. I know what you’re doing.” Clint gathered up the dishes and took them to the sink, rinsing them before stacking them in the dishwasher. “Getting in good with the dog to get to the master.”

 

“You caught me.” Phil followed him and trapped him against the counter. “I have a crush on Lucky’s owner and his amazing arms.”

 

“Yeah?” Clint found himself breathless as Phil leaned in. “Well, I hear he thinks you have a great ass.”

 

Phil’s lips caught his, brushing across slowly in a lazy kiss. All too soon, Phil pulled back and glanced at the clock on the microwave.

 

“I’ve got to go. We’re still on for Saturday, right?” Phil looked torn between leaving and kissing Clint again, a feeling Clint understood.

 

“As an old friend would say, if the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise,” Clint answered, sneaking one quick kiss in before Phil went to pick up his bag. “The way my week is going, who the hell knows?”

 

“Stay safe.” Phil paused, a seriousness in his tone. “I mean it, Clint. Be careful. There’s a lot we don’t know goes on up in the mountains. I’ve got this feeling ... “ He laughed, short and sharp. “Just be wary, okay?”

 

“Sure.” Clint felt a stab of unease. “You do the same. It’s strange, how all of the incidents have been centered around the school. Keep a weather eye out.”

 

Phil started to say something but must have thought better of it, heading for the garage instead. Clint followed, turning off the alarm and then closing the door after Phil’s car pulled out.

 

“Well, dog, guess it’s time for me to get ready. But first, let’s take a walk, burn off some of that energy.”

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Ben, we believe the suspect was exposed to the same kind of radiation as the first; both have admitted to being in the cave in question. As to the specific ways the gamma rays affect a human, well, I’m not a specialist in nuclear medicine, but, coincidentally, there is one right here. I’m going to turn the mike over to Dr. Leonard Samson from the CDC who will fill you in on the containment effort as well as the health risks.”

 

Clint gratefully stepped down from the podium; he’d had enough time in the hot seat. It was someone else’s turn. The whole street in front of the station was blocked by a virtual sea of reporters from the local Peter Parker to Ben Urich from the Missoulian to a CNN talking head. Clint hesitated to think of the way the bigger city papers would paint the small town of Bishop. Gun crazy, end of days wackos with itchy trigger fingers. And a failed big city detective at the helm. He’d gotten two questions about his time in New York, both about cases he worked that didn’t end well. Didn’t matter he had a high success rate of catching the bad guy, no, they were ferreting out the one or two that were left unsolved.

 

He took the opportunity to slip away from the media spotlight, going behind the station and crossing through the alley to get to the Back Door Deli over on 3rd Street.  At 7:17 on a Wednesday night, Clint could grab a fresh made reuben and be back before the the press conference ended. He’d had nothing since breakfast but a steady diet of coffee and one stale donut.

 

The bell above the door chimed as he entered and eyes turned his way. The two teens working behind the counter and the owner at the cash register. And the five people sitting at a back table. Mack looked surprised, Sam confused, Pepper resigned, and Melinda as calm as usual. Phil, on the other hand, blinked twice and sighed.

 

“A reuben to go, extra pickle,” Clint told the golden skinned girl with curly black hair then he sauntered over to the table. “So the press hasn’t found this place yet? Moe’s is overrun with them.”

 

“Been quiet for the last hour,” Mack answered. He gathered up white paper and crumpled napkins. “I’ve got to go pack; I told Mary I’d take her to Sioux Falls since Trip is busy with work.”

 

“Tony probably hasn’t eaten since I left to go shopping. I’m going to grab him a sandwich to go,” Pepper said, rising from the table. “Nice to see you again, Clint; I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

 

“Tell Tony thanks … or was it you who offered to help expedite the tests?” Clint stepped out of the way as she went to the counter. “We certainly appreciate it.”

 

“One thing we do have is connections. Tony’s talking about bringing in a specialist, someone he met at a conference who knows about mining rare materials,” Pepper said.

 

“I’m heading to Steve and Bucky’s to watch the game. I’ll see you at the school tomorrow at nine, Phil.” Sam got up too, leaving only Melinda and Phil at the table. “Evening, Clint.”

 

“That’s me, party crasher.” Clint’s radar was wide open; the way they were all scattering raised red flags. “Sorry to break things up.”

 

“I told you to we should invite him,” Melinda said. “Welcome to the second town council, Clint.”

 

The pieces clicked together and Clint understood. “Coulsons, Wilsons, and Hills. The official council is made up of Bishops and Wards.”

 

“Every town has its share of feuds.” Melinda stated it as fact. “I’ve got no patience with politics.”

 

“By bringing me in, neither side gained.” That made sense; an outside sheriff wouldn’t be beholden to any of the families. “God, what have I gotten myself into?”

 

Melinda stood and nodded at him. “You’re a good man, Clint Barton. You’ll do the right thing.”

 

“Sheriff Barton, your order’s ready,” Matt, the owner told him.

 

“Call my mother, Phil. She hasn’t heard from you in weeks.” Melinda left with half her sandwich in a bag.  

 

“So … are we okay?” Phil asked, voice pitched low. “It’s not what you think.”

 

“I think you know things. Maybe Saturday you can find time to enlighten me,” Clint said.

 

“I can do that,” Phil agreed.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait,” Clint interrupted. “Did I just get played?” He looked between the wolf and the woman. “You already had this whole thing figured out.”
> 
> Phil woofed once happily. Melinda shrugged.
> 
> “He’s the alpha,” she said. “Welcome to Phil’s unofficial pack, Clint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the promised Coyote's Story. Good news is I just send chapter 8 off to my beautiful beta and I know exactly how many chapters are left and what's happening in them. Going to earn that explicit rating in the next few chapters as the slow burn is going to explode. 
> 
> All this started because I wanted to write one kinky sex scene which is now a dream sequence ... it's been a blast!

“We’re ready to transfer Johnston to the hospital,” Grant said from the doorway. “He’s sedated and on the gurney.”

 

Lucky immediately perked up his ears and stuck his head around the side of the desk, sniffing the air. With a deep rumbling growl, he backed up, bumping into Clint’s feet. Then he started barking from the protection Clint’s chair offered.

 

“Oh, hey there.” Grant knelt down and held out his hand. “You must be Lucky.”

 

As Grant’s hand neared, Lucky snapped at him then darted under the desk. Grant jerked back, but the puppy hadn’t gotten near enough to catch him.

 

“Sorry,” Clint said, dropping out of his chair and fishing Lucky out. “He’s very skittish around new people.”

 

“Right. I should have realized that.” Grant stood up as Clint did. “What with all the abuse the Johnston’s handed out, I can only imagine.  Sorry, little man. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

This time Grant stayed put and held his hand palm up. Clint took a step at a time closer, Lucky cradled against his chest until the dog could sniff Grant while feeling safe. Then Lucky promptly hid his head under Clint’s and squirmed around.

 

“He’ll get there. I had to bring him in today because Mary Jane’s off to her call back audition. She’s trying out for the part of Lizzie in the Community Theater’s production of The Rainmaker,” Clint explained.

 

“You need someone to watch him? I’m off after I make this transfer. He can come hang at my apartment and watch TV with me,” Grant offered.

 

“Thanks, but Steve and Bucky are coming by in a bit to take him. Buck is convinced that Peggy and Lucky are star crossed lovers-to-be. Guy’s a closet romantic.” Clint had laughed the first time Bucky put the two puppies together; Lucky had immediately rolled over for Peggy and became her loyal sidekick. If Peggy was into it, Lucky would be right there as well.

 

“Barnes a romantic. You’re making that up.” Ward had an easy smile; despite his prickly demeanor, Clint suspected there was a bit of little boy left inside the deputy. And that kid had some family issues. Clint knew an abused child when he saw one. Grant made up for it with distance and a friendly mask, but there was no hiding from a fellow survivor.

 

“Nope. He’s read every Nicholas Sparks novel and even made Steve and me watch Twilight with him.” Clint was going to get in trouble when that got back to Bucky, but the man deserved some ribbing after the ruthless way he was giving Clint grief about Phil. And that wasn’t a subject Clint wanted to be thinking about right now; he’d lost enough sleep wondering what Phil was going to tell him tomorrow.  “Let me know when Johnston’s safely delivered.”

 

“Will do.” Grant paused on his way out. “Is everything okay? I mean, you drifted off during the scientific briefing today and seem a little distracted. If you need any help or just someone to talk to …”

 

“Thanks. I’m pretty tired; I dozed off there for a bit with all the technical jargon. What with moving and a new house and job and dog … been a wild ride so far.” Damn it, but now Clint was suspecting everyone of having secrets. Grant was a Ward. Wards and Bishops. Coulson, Hills, and Wilsons. He was surrounded by them. And he wasn’t sure who to trust.

 

“That it has. Pretty much baptism by fire. Be sure and take your weekend off; Joe always guarded our time outside the job. Said it made us better officers if we had a life,” Grant said before he left the office.

 

Ward was right. Clint had poured himself into work and the strain was starting to show. He’d not even taken the time to decorate his office, walls bare and shelves half empty. He needed a couch against the wall and a lamp for his desk. Most of all, he’d like to spend a day with Lucky, curled up and watching movies … and Phil too, if that was in his future. A cold beer, an old western, and a cozy throw. Maybe a fire in the fireplace. That’s what he wanted.

 

Too bad it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

“So you picked her up today?” Clint asked from the passenger side of Phil’s new car. “Pretty snazzy, Phil. Leather seats, touch screen …” he pushed a button and a GPS map came up “... four wheel drive, venetian red … she’s gorgeous. I think I’m jealous.”

 

“Plus she’s a hybrid and environmentally friendly. First 2016 XV Crosstrek they’ve sold at the Subaru dealer in town.” Phil actually patted the dashboard. “She’ll take me anywhere I need to go.”

 

The pothole they hit bounced Clint up and he bumped his head on the ceiling. “Looks like we’re going to need all her bells and whistles.”

 

Calling the rutted tracks a road was a kindness; they were little more than two furrows filled with gravel winding up the side of the ridge. Phil had to get out and open the chain that said NO ADMITTANCE before they could turn onto the path. Twenty minutes later, they were driving slowly, navigating the overgrown weeds and a few fallen trees, kidneys taking a beating.

 

“We’re almost there,” Phil announced. As a final insult to injury, he turned the wheel into a clearing that went down through a copse of trees, tight enough that a truck wouldn’t have made it. Then he stopped at what looked like a parking spot next to a small wooden building. “Welcome to substation 42. The forestry service rents these out to universities and other researchers who want to do work in the park. I had a summer job delivering supplies up this way; still have the key to get in. Come on, I want to show you something.”

 

Clint took the backpack and Phil carried a cooler; through the back door, Clint saw a small bedroom with two sets of bunk beds, an even smaller bathroom, and a large front room with a kitchenette and lots of workspaces. Windows show a vista of the mountains; they’d driven pretty high up, and a door in the middle opened onto a deck that spanned the front and both sides. The view was simply amazing; spread out before them, in all the spring splendor of new leaves and pastel blooms, Bitterroot presented itself in all its glory. To the east, Clint could see the valley and the town sprawled out, the streets, the sides of the squares and the buildings a colorful carpet between them. To the west, somewhere over the greening craigs, lay Lewiston. To the south, as far as Clint could see, nothing but wilderness area.

 

The railing had two slats to keep people from falling off the edge; Clint sat down and hung his legs over, leaning against the bottom slat and cradling his head on his folded hands. Swinging his feet, he sighed. “Okay, this was worth the drive.”

 

“You said you liked to be up high.” Phil joined him. “So I thought of dinner with the best seat in the house.”

 

“You did good.” Clint grinned at Phil and some of the tension left Phil’s face. “And you brought food too? Double bonus points.”

 

Phil dragged over the cooler and opened the backpack. Plastic containers held portions of chicken casserole and green bean salad. For dessert, he had chocolate chip s’mores bars, all of it homemade. For awhile, they ate in silence, Clint fascinated by the activity he could see -- a pair of hawks soared not far in front of them and a black bear ambled by below -- and Phil chewing slowly, thinking.

 

“I’m going to tell you a story,” Phil finally said. “It’s very old and been handed down through generations. I learned it from my grandfather who learned it from his. You have to understand that the tribes in this area had a very different idea about history. To them, the past was a living thing, about warriors and heroes. About villains and evil.”

 

His curiosity piqued, Clint leaned back on his hands and nodded. “Okay. I understand.”

 

Phil took a deep breath and began.

 

“One time, Coyote was bored and looking to cause some trouble. It wasn’t in his nature to be still; from the beginning of time, Coyote had always been and will always be. Long before the mountains, before the first river flowed and the first peoples came to be, when the old spirits walked the earth, Coyote was Coyote, ever the trickster.

 

And so it was he came upon his first white men, huddled together in the blinding white of an iwoblu, a blizzard the likes of which Coyote hadn’t seen in centuries. No fire would stay lit, warmth whipped away by wind; the men, women and children would not last the night. Right then,  Coyote devised a game to play, so simple and easy and yet impossible at the same time. Not hopeless, mind you, for Coyote always gave others a chance and when they won, his honor demanded they receive their prize. But a game that demanded honesty and strength of character which, Coyote thought, white men had in short supply.

 

He appeared at their campsite, and the fire caught anew, blazing with warmth. A stout woman wearing little more than a thin coat, her three children bundled in all their clothes and blankets, offered him a place beside her and her husband. They gave him a portion of their meager gruel while the others heated their own dinners. In a blink, Coyote knew the leader from the followers, the households from each other. Those burdened down with things and those who had none. Not that any of it mattered; Thaté killed the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak.

 

Stories he told as they ate their last repast, of mountain spirits and fertile valleys. Of green springs and bitter winters. When they were relaxed and ready, he posed a single question.

 

“What do you want most from the mountain?”

 

The Leader, a man of strong convictions but weak in spirit, answered first.

 

“Money. To never have to worry about having enough.”

 

Coyote saw his meek wife flinch, and his young son turn hungry eyes up at his father. He knew that she would not last much longer; death stood nearby, his arms already open.

 

“And you’re willing to pay the price?” Coyote asked.

 

“Whatever it be,” the man replied without a glance at his family.

 

The Warrior went next, a strong man with fast hands and battle scars. His wife wore a plain dress, a knife on her belt, and his daughter shivered without complaint.

 

“To protect the innocent,” he said. “Whatever the price.”

 

The images of blood and pain, tears and grief rose up in Coyote’s sight, but so did the thanks of those saved and the satisfaction of a job well done.

 

The Rulemaker spoke from his place, irritated that he was third. HIs wife cowered with their two boys, all afraid to speak.

 

“Power,” he announced. “I would have the world follow my plan to make it a better place.” Arrogance coated his words, disregard for anyone but himself. “No price is too great.”

 

The Teacher, the one who had shared the fire and his food with Coyote, said, “For my family to survive this night.”

 

“That’s all?” Coyote asked in return.

 

“That’s all anyone can ask,” the wife replied. “To survive one day at a time. We all must die; we can only put it off for a while longer. That alone is worth the cost.”

 

Coyote smiled at her then turned to the last woman, seated further away from the fire, huddled with her two boys. Skin darker than one of the first people, she held her children to her ample breast and rocked them to keep warm.

 

“And you,” Coyote asked. “What do you want most from the mountain?”

 

“She doesn’t want anything,” the Leader interrupted. “She belongs to me. I tell her what she can have.”

 

“So you are responsible for her then?” Coyote said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

 

“She is mine,” the Leader repeated.

 

“Very well then, but I’d still like to hear her answer.” Coyote nodded and the woman spoke with a tremulous voice.

 

“To have my sons grow as strong as the mountain,” she said. “I’d give anything for them to be good men.”

 

“Very well. So shall it be.” And Coyote vanished, taking with him their memory of the evening.

 

The snow ended abruptly and the next day they topped the crest and saw the green valley below. But the Leader’s wife was left on the ridge, buried in the way of her people, along with the Rulemaker’s son. They settled, built houses, built businesses, built a town. More came over the mountains, and their numbers grew as children were born.

 

The Leader’s family never lacked in money but happiness eluded them, their marriages ending in tears and grief. The Warrior’s kin were always in danger, holding the line between the darkness and the light, but their hands were covered with blood that never washed clean. The Rulemaker’s children hoarded power, their voices raised above the rest, but they lost their way often, wandering away from goodness for the lure of more. The Teacher’s line survived, got married, had children, grew old, and died, leaving their mark through the people they touched but they had trouble finding the right mate, the one who could live their simple life. And the woman’s sons grew strong and tall like the mountains, their roots dug deep into the soil, their price paid by a selfish man who claimed to own them.”

 

Clint listened the whole time as the sun dropped lower in the sky. The cadence of Phil’s voice changed as he told the tale, rising and falling in the way of storyteller of old. Recognizing the elements of a myth, Clint tied the parts together and understood. He waited a few quiet moments when Phil finished before he spoke.

 

“Well, the Bishops are the leaders; plenty of money without happiness. My guess is the Wards as the rulemakers; Grant’s brother is a Representative and there’s talk of him running for the Senate and politicians are about as easily corruptible as people come. The warriors? Got to be the Hills; Maria and Melinda as competent in that department as they come. Teachers … that’s you. And the woman’s line include Mack, Sam, and Trip. It’s a creation story of the founding of the town.”

 

“Most people around here think it’s a myth to explain the bad blood between families,” Phil said. “The difference between those who have the power and the ones who get things done.”

 

“That’s pretty much the way it is everywhere,” Clint added. When Phil didn’t reply, Clint asked, “We staying for the sunset? ‘Cause I bet it’s pretty spectacular from here.”

 

“It is.” Phil pulled himself up and offered Clint a hand. “I brought flashlights, so we can find the car after.”

 

There was more, another shoe to drop, but Phil had opened up and it was only a matter of time. Whatever the powwow had been about at the deli, Clint was going to find out soon. For now, he followed Phil to the side deck and stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist. He rested his chin on Phil’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.

 

The sky darkened behind them, the horizon to the west turning redder and then purple. The few clouds picked up the hues and spattered the colors against their curves. The steady thump of Phil’s heart was soothing; no need for words, Clint brushed his lips along Phil’s hairline and the tip of his ear. A long sigh, and Phil’s shoulders sagged as he leaned his weight onto Clint.

 

“We’ve all got secrets,” Clint murmured as the sky painted itself in a blaze of gold. “We’ll get there.”

 

Phil turned and leaned against the railing, pulling Clint into his arms. They kissed in the waning light, soft and easy, a slow exploration. Clint sank into it, letting the taste of Phil drive any doubts away. The shadows lengthened, and true dusk settled around them as the last of the sun’s rays  began to fade.

 

“Is that a flashlight in your pocket?” Clint asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

“Really? You’re going with that?” Phil chuckled and let go. “It’s in the pack. We better head out; I’d hate for them to have to send a rescue party to find us.”

 

“The moon might be waning but there’s enough light. And I think you’re a better driver.” Clint picked up the cooler. Phil took the time to lock up the doors as they went back to the car.  

 

The wind rustled through the branches, filtering the moonlight into a random pattern on the ground. Clint slowed, sitting the cooler by the hatchback; in the corner of his eye, a shadow moved, detaching from a pool of black. An arm reached out, claws slashing as Clint turned, catching him on the forearm and drawing blood.

 

“What the hell?” Clint stumbled back under the onslaught. Teeth gleamed as the mouth opened, a gaping maw of darkness closing in on him. He dodged, rolling along the side of the car only to find himself trapped as the creature shifted, changed, moving to block Clint’s way. With a growl, it latched onto Clint’s ankle and began to drag him away from the car.

 

A growl stopped the creature then a howl split the air. Dropping Clint, it whipped around to face the grey wolf that menaced it. Stalking to one side, the two circled each other, the creature changing constantly like a cloud roiling in the wind. It snapped its teeth at the wolf who darted out of the way, faster and more agile. Then the wolf slipped under and tore a chunk from its torso, black bleeding away from the wound.

 

Clint pushed himself to his feet, wishing he’d brought a gun but not sure it would make any difference. Every hit the wolf made healed quickly as the creature came back together and reformed. Nothing seemed to harm the beast. Looking around, Clint scanned the area for Phil, hoping he’d run back into the station. But pooled by the abandoned backpack was a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and flannel shirt all on top of worn leather boots. The edge of white briefs hung over the unlatched belt.

 

A yelp of pain drew his attention back to the fight; the wolf skittered away, three bloody claw marks on its flank. The creature bared its teeth and gave a rumbling growl that shook the gravel on the parking spot. It lunged and the wolf barely managed to dodge.

Limping around to the hatchback, Clint popped it open, his brain working furiously to make sense of what he knew to be true. Phil’s clothes were laying on the ground. The wolf had appeared and was protecting him. Phil was nowhere to be seen.

 

Phil. Clothes. Wolf.

 

Phil. Wolf.

 

Another yelp and the wolf … Phil? … went down, its back legs giving out. The creature gave a deep throated howl that raised the hackles on Clint’s neck.

 

He grabbed the emergency kit and searched for a road flare. Damn thing was a shadow, right? Well let’s see how he likes a little fire, Clint thought. He pulled out two, lit the first and lobbed it right into the middle of the whorl of dark that was its torso. The creature roared and lost its cohesion, breaking into smaller balls of black. Before it could reintegrate, Clint threw the second into its open mouth and it exploded into pieces that blew away in the wind.

 

Running to where the wolf lay on the ground, Clint could barely see in the gloom. So he opened the driver’s side of the door and turned on the headlights; the glow bathed the area and Clint could see the gashes in the wolf’s side, red blood marring its grey fur. Dropping to his knees, Clint smoothed his hand along the curve of the wolf’s head.

 

“Hang on, buddy.” He tried to wrap his brain around the only logical solution as he fished his phone out of his pocket. No bars of service. “Damn it.”

 

He acted; that was all Clint knew to do. Grabbing Phil’s t-shirt, he ripped it into stripes and wound it around the wolf’s stomach, ignoring the growls. The fabric stained immediately but the pressure helped slow the flow.  

 

“Okay, we’ll get you in the car and I’ll take you to Jane. That’s a plan.”

 

The wolf yipped twice and glared at Clint, twisting his head and making a growl of pain as he did.

 

“What?” Clint asked. “You’re bleeding, damn it. Don’t be barking at me.”

 

A whine and two more yips. Clint looked into those blue eyes and suddenly he believed.

 

“Listen to me, Phil. I’m going to ask you simple questions. One is yes, two is no. Okay?”

 

Yip.

 

“Okay. I’m going to lift you up and put you in the back seat ..”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“Yes, I’m putting you in the car.”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“Good God, Phil, would you rather bleed to death than get your leather seats messed up?”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“So what do you want me to do? We’ve got to get out of here. There’s no way to keep the blood from getting on the …”

 

Yip.

 

“If we had something to put over …”

 

Yip.

 

“Where? In the trunk?”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“In the car?”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

Clint thought about it for a second. “In the backpack.”

 

Yip.

 

Folded in the bottom was a plaid blanket; Phil had probably put it there in case they got cold or needed to sit on the ground. Clint made short work of covering the back seat and then he scooped up Phil as gently as he could and carried him to the car. Phil made a strangled noise, a whine mixed with a growl. Wrestling him inside wasn’t easy, but Clint got it done then gathered up Phil’s clothes, tossing them in the front seat after fishing the keys out of a jeans pocket.  He closed the hatch, got in, started the car, and locked the doors for good measure.

 

“Bet you didn’t intend for me to drive us home.” Clint talked when he nervous and he was so close to freaking out that he was actually calm. He drove back to the rutted road, torn between driving slow to not jostle Phil and the need to hurry. “I should call Jane, tell her we’re coming. Wait. Does Jane know? About you being a werewolf?”

 

Yip. Silence. Yip. Yip.

 

“Jane knows and you’re not a werewolf?” Clint hit the phone icon on the touch screen. Still no service.

 

Yip.

 

They drove in silence for awhile then Clint hit a particularly deep hole and Phil made a pained sound. “Sorry, sorry. I’m trying here. Damn it, I need to call the office, have them on the look out for that … thing. Before it attacks someone else.”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“Don’t call?” Clint turned to look back and hit another bump. “Whatever it was, it’s dangerous.”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“Good God this is impossible. If we get through this, we’re going to figure a better way to communicate.”  Clint sighed and navigated around yet another obstacle. “You don’t want me to call?”

 

Yip. Yip.

 

“You don’t want me to call the station?”

 

Yip.

 

“You want me to call someone else?”

 

Yip.

 

“Melinda?” That made the most sense; Phil and Melinda were close friends and if anyone knew about Phil being a … whatever he was … it was Mel.

 

Yip.

 

“Okay, you probably have her in the system, I’ll just …” Clint looked down and saw one lone bar of service. He pushed the microphone icon and said “Call Melinda.”

 

She answered on the third ring. “Phil? Why are you calling? I thought you had a date with Clint.”

 

“It’s me, Melinda,” Clint said. “It’s an emergency. Phil’s been hurt and I’m on my way to Jane’s clinic. We were attacked by something big up at the station. I don’t know what …”

Phil barked loudly from the back seat then growled.

 

“Where are you?” As dependable as ever, Melinda didn’t even question the strangeness of this conversation.

 

“Just about to turn on Lost Horse Road. We’re maybe ten minutes out from the clinic.” Clint pressed the gas pedal as he hit the pavement, speeding up far beyond the limit.

 

“I’ll be there before you are; we’ll be ready. Tell Phil not to change back; he’ll heal faster in this form.” She paused. “Be careful, Clint.”

 

Clint drove the rest of the way in silence: in the back, Phil panted, a reassuringly steady sound. Soon he was turning into the parking lot of the clinic and into the pool of light by the back door. Before he shut the engine off, Jane rushed out with Thor in tow; they had Phil out and onto a gurney in seconds, rolling him into the building.  Melinda met him inside, walking beside him down the hall. They rushed Phil into a surgery room; Jane removed the makeshift bandage and hissed her displeasure.

 

“Okay, we can fix this. The wounds are messy, but not too deep. Thor, get me an epidural line and we’ll get started.” Jane bustled around, full of energy, flitting from the table to the cabinets and back.

 

“You’re wounded,” Melinda said to Clint. “Let me have a look.”

 

He ended up sitting in a chair with a hand on Phil’s head while Melinda cleaned the gravel and dirt from the scratches on his arm and the teeth marks in his calf. It was all so strange and yet he ran his fingers through Phil’s fur and scratched behind his ears as if he’d known all along.

 

Coyote’s game. Five families, five answers. A wolf that seemed human. A bear that looked right at Clint. A mountain lion that drove away the dark thing and made sure he was safe. A falcon that paid him a visit. How it all related to the radiation poisoning, Clint wasn’t sure, but Johnston had rambled on about a shadow being awakened and that thing tonight was as shadowy as it came. Of course, Phil wouldn’t have told him; who would ever believe a crazy tale of a family curse and … shapeshifting? transmogrification? … something like that.

 

Phil whined and licked Clint’s hand. “It’s okay,” Clint told him. “Well, no it’s not, but I’m not heading for the hills just yet.”

 

With a loud exhale, Phil rested his cheek against Clint’s palm and flicked his ears.

 

“Tell me what happened,” Melinda asked. It helped to focus his mind, reciting the incident from start to finish, recalling every detail. Thor chuckled when he got to the part about Phil refusing to get blood on the seat and their ensuing argument down the mountain. Once he finished, Melinda had him go over it all again, asking questions this time to draw out even more specifics, especially about the creature. Occasionally, Phil would make a sound, his version of editorial comments.

 

“Okay, all done. The anesthesia should start to wear off shortly; I gave you a shot of painkiller, but we should get you some human meds for when you change back. Given your healing rate, I’d say you’ll get feeling in your back legs about an hour; the best thing to do would be to get a good night’s rest. I’ll make up a room in the house for you,” Jane said.

 

Phil yipped twice.

 

“You are going to stay here, Phil.” Melinda glared at him. “You need someone to check on you.”

 

Phil yipped twice again.

 

“What do you want? To go home? By yourself?” Clint asked. Even as a wolf, the damn man was stubborn. First he wouldn’t leave when there was a bomb and now this.

 

Phil yipped once.

 

“Well, you’re not going to. I didn’t lug your ass off that mountain for you to risk it climbing up stairs or rattling around in that old house.” Clint stood up and towered over Phil.

 

Phil whined and twisted his head until his blue eyes were staring up at Clint.

 

“Oh, no, don’t try the pizza face on me. It’s not going to work. You’re not going back to your house alone. And that’s that.” Clint tried to draw a hard line, but Phil’s tongue darted out and licked the back of his hand where he was gripping the table. Wiggling his front legs, Phil got close enough to rest his nose against Clint’s skin. “I really should be pissed at you, you know. Here I am thinking your big secret is some ancestor who ran off and married the wrong person and you’re a werewolf.” Phil’s skin pulled up around his teeth and he growled. “Okay, not a werewolf, but something. Anyway, you owe me big time for not freaking out up there. So you’re going to stay where someone can watch you, heal up, and change back so I can yell at you tomorrow.” Phil huffed, his breath hot against Clint’s hand, plopped his snout on the metal table and sighed. “Fine. I’ll take you home with me. Will serve you right, sleeping on the floor with Lucky. That way I get first crack at an explanation in the morning.”

 

Phil looked up at Clint, his tongue lolled out and his eyes sparkled. He woofed once in agreement then tilted his head towards Melinda and woofed again.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Melinda replied. “Sam’s already doing aerial reconnaissance and Trip is going to head out to the site first thing in the morning. It’s only been seen at night, so we decided to wait for daylight.”

 

“Wait,” Clint interrupted. “Did I just get played?” He looked between the wolf and the woman. “You already had this whole thing figured out.”

 

Phil woofed once happily. Melinda shrugged.

 

“He’s the alpha,” she said. “Welcome to Phil’s unofficial pack, Clint.”

 

Clint shook his head and sank back down in his seat. Outmaneuvered by a wolf. And he thought he could be sheriff.

* * *

 

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Clint stopped at the top of the stairs and glared at the wolf curled up on his bed. “You are not getting fur all over my sheets.”

 

Phil lifted his head from the pillow and whined, scooting the covers down and burrowing deeper.

 

“Jesus Christ, I have lost all control of my life,” Clint groused, throwing in the towel and letting Phil win. Again.

 

While Phil had recuperated enough to walk shakily, Clint and Melinda held a planning meeting on what steps to take next. She’d pulled her trump card when Clint argued he’d be in first thing in the morning, reminding him of his own policy of sending wounded officers home for at least a day. It grated on him to let the others take the lead, but she was right. His arm and shin were aching and he longed to take one of the horse sized ibuprofen that Bruce had brought for him along with medication for Phil. He did insist on being kept up-to-date and a progress meeting at his house at a time to be determined tomorrow.

 

Thor put Phil on the seat of his truck, lifting the heavy animal like he weighed next to nothing, and Jane rode with Clint in Phil’s car. Melinda made them all wait inside while she did a sweep of the yard and tree line; when she’d disappeared behind the shop and a familiar mountain lion had emerged, Clint couldn’t even work up a spark of anger. Phil, wolf. Melinda, mountain lion. Sam, aerial reconnaissance, falcon. In a way, the realization that they were watching out for him made him feel safer than he had all night.

 

He’d worried about Lucky’s reaction; after Thor had carried Phil outside, Jane took care of Lucky’s last pit stop while Clint carried pillows up to arrange a place on the floor for Phil. it had been Thor who’d taken Phil upstairs and deposited him on the bed while Clint did the circuit and locked up behind them. Now Lucky was squirming in his arms to be put down, worked up by the smell of another animal.  

 

“Okay, okay.” Clint walked over to the bed and gingerly sat Lucky on the quilt. “Please don’t kill each other.”

 

With a mild grumble in this throat, Phil stayed still as Lucky sniffed around him, confusion evident on the dog’s face. Maybe the smell was familiar -- Phil was Phil after all -- or maybe it was the alpha thing. Whatever the reason, Lucky bristled at first, gave a baby growl as he circumvented Phil’s body then sat on his haunches and just looked at Phil. Without warning, Lucky flopped over and presented his tummy so Phil could nuzzle him with his nose.

 

“Great. Now that you two are friends, any idea how I’m supposed to get some sleep?” Clint complained. He changed into a pair of sleep pants and t-shirt, did a quick bathroom visit, and crawled into the far side of bed. “What did you do last night, Clint, they’ll ask. Got attacked by a shadow, found out my date was a wolf, and spent the night with two hairy creatures in my bed.”

 

Phil whined as Clint turned out the light, wiggling closer and turning his head Clint’s way. When Clint didn’t move, just lying on his back, Phil tried again, making a pained sound as he twisted his body so he could get close enough to lick Clint’s shoulder.

 

“That’s not going to work,” Clint told him.

 

Another lick, along his neck this time, and Phil worked his way up to Clint’s jaw. The rough surface of Phil’s tongue tickled, but it also sent little shivers along Clint’s spine. When the tongue swirled in his ear, Clint sighed and turned over on his side, facing Phil.

 

“Fine. Okay. Wolf cuddles it is. But if I wake up sneezing, I’m going to be grumpy all day.”

 

A warm mass of fur pressed along Clint’s front and Phil’s head tilted up to lick the underside of Clint’s chin. Rumbling contently, Phil settled in, waiting for Lucky to curl up along his belly near his front paws. Clint gave in and draped his arm over Phil’s shoulder, tucking his fingers where he could scratch Lucky’s head.

 

He expected to take a long time falling asleep; behind his eyelids, he still saw a flash of teeth and felt the tear of claws. But the rhythmic rise and fall of Phil’s chest and Lucky’s half whimpers, half snores lulled Clint to relax. Before he could get to the fourth thing on his list to worry about, Clint drifted off, his back to the windows and his front protected by a wall of fur.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, I know. Why isn't Clint freaked out? Here's my head canon why. First, Clint has been in battle and seen lots of terrible things. He's also highly trained to respond to situations calmly. Since he realizes Phil's the wolf during the fight and then has to deal with the wounded Phil, Clint deals with it the way I tend to handle emergencies -- do what needs to be done and freak out later. Only he's known something was up with Phil and, strange or not, this makes some sort of sense. After all, Sherlock Holmes says that once you've eliminated all the possibilities, the remaining solution, no matter how impossible, must be right. That and I wanted wolf snuggles. Sue me. ;D


	7. Chapter 7

“Is that coffee for me?” Phil cracked one eye open but otherwise didn’t move. Sprawled out on his back, one arm thrown above his head, Phil was gloriously naked, nothing but the sheet wrapped around one leg and barely covering his groin. Setting down the cup on the bedside table, Clint let himself look his fill. Toned abs and biceps, Phil’s body was that of a runner, lean and smooth, just a smattering of dark curls on his chest. The silky cotton couldn’t hide the large bulge that twitched, reddish head peeping out from under a loose fold.

 

“You going to laze around all day?” Clint wanted to lean over and run a hand along Phil’s skin, trace his collarbone and circle his jaw. The expected anger had never come, no feeling of betrayal. Truth was, Clint was the interloper in this town, the new guy that needed to earn Phil’s trust, not the other way around. It wasn’t as if Clint had been forthcoming with his own family secrets; the skeletons in his closet could field their own baseball team and have a deep bench. And the whole wolf thing? Clint found wolf Phil just as endearing as human Phil. Just as arousing, if he was being honest with himself. Who knew he had a hidden thing for furry bed hogs?

 

“Ummmmm,” Phil mumbled and opened his lids a tiny slit. “My first inclination is to invite you to join me, but I remember something about yelling and questions.”

 

“Yeah, I think we’ll save the drama and the questions can wait.” Clint put a knee on the side of the bed and leaned over. “The whole moving slowly thing kind of got blown to hell last night, so I’m going with it.”

 

Phil’s eyes were heavy lidded, fuzzy from sleep. “I like the sound of that.”

 

His lips were as soft as they looked; Clint ran the tip of his tongue around the edges and kissed the corners before he grazed across them. Slow, easy morning kisses … eleven a.m. definitely counted as morning … that’s what Clint planned. A series of easy brushes and light sweeps of lips. Tasting along Phil’s jaw, sucking on his earlobe, tracing the line of his neck. Clint swung his other knee so he was straddling Phil’s hips and kept kissing. Into his hairline, along the collarbone, and across his chest. The bandage had fallen off when Phil changed; raised red scars looked a week old as they ran from one hip bone to his belly button. Clint kissed them too, blowing a raspberry into the divot and nibbling his way up to Phil’s nipples.

 

Hands ran through Clint’s hair, clenched and pulled as Phil arched his back and gasped loudly. His name fell from Phil’s lips as he licked across the tender nub , worrying it with his tongue and teeth. Sliding his knees back, Clint brought his head up and their hips into alignment, feeling the bulk of Phil’s cock rub along the seam of his sleep pants. Fingers tightened and pulled Clint down for another kiss.

 

The shift from sleepy sex to desperate need was seamless; Phil canted his hips and rolled against Clint, groaning into his mouth. “Off,” Phil murmured, pawing at Clint’s shirt. “I want to feel you.”

 

Hands grabbed at the hem, pulling it up and off; fingers tugged down his pants and briefs. He kicked them to the floor, yanking the sheet out of the way then levered himself back over Phil’s body and rolled his hips. Glorious friction of hot flesh drew a moan from Clint. Phil’s hands sliding down his flanks and cupping his ass, left tingling trails on his skin. Rolls turned to thrusts, and Clint fumbled in the night table for lube. Squeezing out a dollop in Phil’s hand, Clint spread some in his palm then curled his hand around both of their cocks and picked up the pace.

 

“God, Clint,” Phil groaned. “You feel good.”

 

Clint braced himself on one elbow as he twisted his hand with just the right pressure. “Phil,” he murmured. “Yes.”

 

They fit perfectly. Fingers overlapping, slipping up and down in a give and take. Phil urged Clint on, meeting on the curve up and rolling as their cocks rocked together. Waves of pleasure ran through Clint’s body, crashing into his gut and overtaking coherent thought. He chased the crest, drops of sweat running along his nose. Then Phil gasped and came, Clint’s name on his lips as he spattered across the his stomach. Milking the last few drops, Clint let go before Phil got too sensitive, leaning down to kiss Phil and ignoring his own throbbing cock.

 

“My turn,” Phil said. He surged up and took Clint over onto his back, a wicked gleam in Phil’s eyes. With a ruthless efficiency, Phil jacked Clint off in firm strokes, just shy of too tight and absolutely perfect. Closing his eyes, Clint felt the coil of tension and gave in to it, the release overwhelming his senses when it finally came.

 

They lay, both panting from the exertion, side-by-side on the big bed.

 

“How are you real?” Phil asked in a quiet voice. “Not only haven’t you run the other direction, but you gave me the best damn hand job I’ve had in a long time.”

 

“Honestly? I can understand why you didn’t tell me. There’s really not a good way to lead with ‘I turn into a wolf.’” Clint skimmed his hand along Phil’s arm. “That was our second date, after all.”

 

“It’s just … I was sort of dating this guy in high school … we weren’t exactly out-in-the-open because I hadn’t come out to my parents yet … and then I went through my hembleciya.” Phil turned his head to look at Clint. “Not everyone has the gift or curse. For us, it's no more than one per generation and sometimes it even skips one or two. And then we don’t know until we listen to the mountain.”

 

“What Natasha said about Kate. The mountain hadn’t spoken to her yet.” Clint remembered every word from the school hallway. “That’s why Johnston went on about her being a Bishop.”

 

“She’s both Bishop and Hill; there’s no telling what will happen.” Phil shrugged. “We’re not born knowing if we’ll change or what specific form we’ll take.Coulsons are usually wolves but not always; my quest was quick and easy. I turned on the first night and woke up to a celebratory breakfast with my dad. He had a competition going with his sister; the gift skipped them so bragging rights went to whose kid was chosen.”

 

“Makes sense.” Clint rolled over on his side. “Wolves are pack animals, focus on family and survival. May’s a mountain lion, a predator; the Hills are protectors, warriors. So, how old were you that first time?”

 

“The summer before my senior year. I was going to be such hot shit; valedictorian, captain of the swim team, the debate team was going to win at Nationals.” Phil snorted, his forehead wrinkling as he laughed at his childish dreams. “I went to tell Felix about my change and found him in bed with a cheerleader. He wanted to know if he was gay or bi or if I was just a phase.”

 

“Tell me you punched him in the face.” Clint grew angry on Phi’s behalf. The son-of-a-bitch. Who could cheat on a teenage Phil? God, but Clint needed to see some pictures of Phil at that age. He had to be a handsome bastard.

 

“I kicked him somewhere else. Unfortunately, the girl decided to tell everyone I was gay; practically ran it on the morning’s announcements,” Phil said. “Needless to say, I swore off relationships for a long time. Then I was away from Bishop and no one knew what being a Coulson meant, so I kept my gift secret. Technically, you’re the only person I’ve dated that’s seen me shift.”

 

“Good.” Clint rolled closer and kissed Phil’s shoulder. “I kind of like that idea.”

 

“Seriously. I’m going to wake up in the clinic on one of the pet beds again, aren’t I?’  Phil replied.

 

Scrabbling claws sounded from below then Lucky began barking like a maniac, running back and forth between the front door and the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Someone’s coming up the drive.” Clint was off the bed in a flash; through the window, he saw Steve’s SUV through the trees. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, he wiped his stomach clean then shimmied into the pair of jeans he’d left over the back of the chair last night, buttoning them up as he slipped his feet into his running shoes. Two steps to the chest of drawers and Clint had his NYPD t-shirt over his head. Stopping to drop a quick kiss on Phil’s lips, Clint was downstairs with Silverado on the TV by the time the doorbell rang .

 

“Hey,” Steve said, holding up two plastic bags loaded with red and white boxes. “We brought lunch. Bucky figured you wouldn’t be up to cooking.”

 

“I said your fridge was probably as empty as ours,” Bucky groused, pushing his way past Clint so he could sit a six pack of beer and another of cola on the countertop. On her leash still, Peggy immediately pounced when Lucky came close enough to sniff her. They started rolling on the floor and Bucky had to hold her still to unbuckle her before she wrapped the lead around his legs. “Steve bought enough for an army.”

 

“I figured you’d have other visitors.” Steve deposited the bags next to the drinks. “Not every day the Sheriff and Principal get mauled by a bear.”

 

“On a date.” Bucky grinned and his face lit up, a sight that almost made the itchy scrapes worth it. “Don’t forget the best part. So, spill. Were you so busy sticking your tongue down his throat that you didn’t hear a big animal crashing through the woods?”

 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Clint shot back, happy to see Bucky in such a good mood. “Pull up a stool and I’ll get out plates.”

 

“We weren’t planning on staying,” Steve said, glancing up towards the loft where the distinct sound of the shower running filtered down. “We don’t want to intrude.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky teased, nudging Steve with his elbow. “I want details.”

 

“It’s fine. Phil just woke up a few minutes ago; he’s doing fine this morning. The biggest worry was infection and his wounds are clear.” That was the story they’d decided to go with, a bear attack with minimal damage to explain Phil’s quick healing.

 

“And what about you?” Steve turned worried blue eyes Clint’s way. “Looks like it got you pretty good.”

 

Clint held out his arm where the white bandage was starting to curl up around the edges; he needed to change it soon. “Swiped my arm and got a tooth into my calf, but nothing major. Put enough antibiotic ointment on to wipe out any bacteria.”

 

“Seriously, how did it happen?” Bucky pulled out a beer and popped the top off. “You’re not usually that easy to catch.”

 

“We went up to one of the research stations. It had an amazing view from the deck; you can see all of town, watch the sunrise and sunset over the mountains. So it was twilight when I went to load the cooler into the car. That’s when it came out of the woods. We ran it off with road flares.” A decent explanation, for all it didn’t say.

 

“You were lucky. It had probably just come out of hibernation and was hungry; the smell of food drew it to you.” Steve started pulling items out and putting them on the counter -- a tub of baked beans, another of mashed potatoes, yet another of macaroni and cheese, and gravy to go over the potatoes. A box of biscuits and then a big bucket of chicken along with extra containers of wings and tenders. “But the place sounds like somewhere you’d like, Buck. Maybe we should get directions and go up there.”

 

Bucky’s face flushed and he turned his eyes deliberately towards the wrestling pups. “Yeah, sounds good,”  he said in a much quieter voice. “I’m going to take these two out before we get started. Peggy needs a quick pee break. Toss me Lucky’s leash.”

 

“Be careful. I’ve seen wolves and a mountain lion in the trees. Keep them close to the house,” Clint warned.

 

“Seriously, Barton. I’ll just scare them off.”  Bucky snapped the leash on both dogs; they raced to the door, practically pulling Bucky off his feet in their joy to get outside. Steve watched Bucky even after he shut the door.

 

“When are you going to man up and deal with the situation?” Clint bluntly asked. Not surprised, Steve hung his head and shuffled over to Bucky’s vacant stool.

 

“Aw, you and Sam both? You double teaming me?” Steve took a sip from Bucky’s open beer bottle. “I don’t know, man. I don’t want to fuck things up. Buck’s doing so good since you’ve been here.”

 

“He’s getting better because of you, you big goof.” Clint lightly smacked him on the side of his head. “And he’s tougher than you think. He’d rather know he has a chance than think it’s hopeless.”

 

“Clint’s right,” Phil said, coming down the stairs favoring his right side. He had his jeans on from yesterday and a plain grey t-shirt that he’d gotten from Clint’s drawer. Black glasses perched on his nose, his hair was damp and skin still flushed from the hot water. “You should tell him; he might surprise you in his response.”

 

With a steady gaze, Steve looked between the two of them, understanding dawning. “Clint knows?”

 

Phil nodded and walked up behind Clint, looking around him at the food laid out. “And he didn’t run. I don’t think Bucky will either.”

 

“Wait a minute.” Clint’s shocked gaze flew to Steve. “You too? But you’re from Brooklyn. All those stories about stick ball in the streets?”

 

“My grandfather fell in love with a beautiful young art student who’d come to study in New York City all the way from Montana.” Steve gave a bashful half-smile. “That’s why I moved back here; my cousin offered me a job and use of our aunt’s house.”

 

“Maria. You’re a Hill.” Clint snorted. “Of course you are. You are definitely a warrior. So what are you? Cougar? Bear? Bobcat?”

 

“A Bighorn sheep.” Steve shrugged, obviously used to Clint’s double take reaction. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“The Crow admired them. According to legend, they saved a young man whose father tried to kill him and gifted him with power, wisdom, sharp eyes, sure-footedness, keen ears, great strength, and a strong heart.” Phil snuck a chicken leg from the bucket. “Sounds like Steve to me.”

 

“Well, he does like to butt heads with people,” Clint added with a chuckle.

 

“Good Lord, these two are a handful,” Bucky said as he came back in, announcing his presence with barking puppies. The wind had blown hanks of hair loose from his ponytail and his cheeks were flushed from chasing after the dogs. “I’m ready for a couple pieces of chicken.”

 

They filled their plates and ate on the couch, Phil sitting next to Clint with Lucky at their feet begging for bits. The talk was of everyday things, Steve and Bucky’s advanced training in search and rescue, Phil’s new car, Clint’s misguided obsession with the 49ers, and, of course, stories about the puppies. It was nice to let the worry drift into the background for an hour, eat a greasy piece of fried chicken, and rub his knee against Phil’s. All too soon, Steve rounded up Bucky and they insisted on cleaning up, storing all the extra food in the fridge, leaving the counter clean.

 

After they left, Phil’s eyelids sagged and Clint bullied him into taking a nap on the couch as Clint worked on reports. Lucky whined enough that Phil scooped him up and let the dog curl along his chest and rest his head on Phil’s arm. The afternoon slipped by that way with the soft exhale of breaths and the clicking of keys, Phil’s presence soothing away Clint’s worries when he began to research through the database other bear attacks that might be more than they seemed.

 

When he got nowhere, he shifted over to cases like Johnston’s, rage induced violence with keywords like shadow and mountain. Two popped right away. First, just a day before the disruption at the high school, an older man in Whitefish had killed his wife and then himself in their home. Hours before, he’d been in a local diner talking about shadows and evil awakening. Everyone thought it had been the new meds his doctor had put him on recently. The second, only a day before the bomb scare, was in Grangeville on the other side of the mountains, near the Nez Perce Reservation. The shift manager of the Pizza Castle on Main Street used a deep fryer to set a fire in the kitchen. All the witnesses recounted the same story; the mother of three had been berating everyone about the coming darkness.

 

The further Clint read, the more he was sure these were related cases. Both of the perpetrator’s had been in the mountains shortly before their breakdowns -- the man on a fly fishing weekend with his retired buddies and the mother on a camping trip with her sons. Clint fired off text messages to Melinda then went into the second bedroom to call the other police offices to see if any of the others on those trips were exhibiting the same symptoms and explain about the radiation they’d found.

 

By the time he was done, he found Phil in the kitchen, heating up a cup of coffee. “I should probably be going,” he said. “It’s been over four hours since I took a pain pill and I’m feeling better.”

 

“Melinda and Tripp are coming over for an update. I think they’re bringing pizza.” Thing was, Clint didn’t want Phil to go. Having him in the house had been … nice. Way too soon, of course, to say anything like that out loud, so Clint was prepared for Phil to go eventually, but he wanted to drag it out as long as possible. “Here, you can help me look through these case histories. I ran a list of possible matches; two were obvious, but I’ll need to comb through these to see if they fit.”

 

“I can do that.” Phil seemed relieved, or at least Clint wanted to believe he was. “You want a cup?”

 

They sat in opposite corners of the couch, Clint swinging his legs up and tucking his toes under Phil’s leg, and they poured over the details. Occasionally, one of them would bring up a fact, toss it out for discussion, but mostly they worked in silence, only the hum of the refrigerator and the whoosh of the central heat kicking on.  By the time Lucky got restless near feeding time, they’d identified four more possibilities, all within the same two week window. Another up north in Libby, and one as far east as Deer Lodge. In Idaho, there was one in Salmon and another in McCall. The link between them all was the Bitterroot Mountains and ranting about shadows.

 

By the time Melinda and Trip arrived with Mack in tow, they had the entire thing spread out on the dining room table, cups holding down the edges of the papers.

 

“You’ve been busy,” Melinda said, cutting a glance between the two men.  The edges of her mouth tugged up. “Workaholics, both of you.”

 

“Pizza’s hot.” Trip sat the boxes down on the counter. “Grab it before it gets cold.”

 

Clint looked at the amount of food they’d brought; he wouldn’t need to cook for a week at this rate. “White pizza?” he asked, peeking into the first box. “I can smell the garlic.”

 

“It’ll keep the vampires away,” Trip joked. He shuffled out a box from the middle of the stack; the smell of roasted tomatoes and spicy garlic wafted into the room. Lucky skittered around the corner and came to a halt, big eyes on the dangle of cheese from the piece Trip had in his hand.

 

“Don’t make me put you in the bedroom,” Clint warned, not meaning a word of it.

 

He piled two pieces, one of white pizza, the other bacon and mushroom, and carried the plate over to table. Without being told, everyone helped themselves, sharing the six pack of Corona Mack had brought along.

 

“Eight other cases?” Melinda asked, leaning over the files laid out in chronological order.

 

“The first was three days before Dennis went down in the mine and the last one on Thursday. All of the suspects had been up in the mountains within ten days of the event. I”ve talked to two of the supervising officers; next step is to get through to the others and chase the details to ground. Most of them weren’t alone, so there may be more people exposed,” Clint explained.

 

Trip picked up the first file, the case out of Salmon, and flipped through it. “So the first exposure was … eighteen days ago? Odds are the radiation has been there for a while. Question is, what changed eighteen days ago?”

 

“Exactly. That’s what we’ve got to find out,” Clint agreed with a nod. He bit into the pizza and the hot cheese almost burned his mouth.

 

“Do you think the two things are related? The radiation and the creature?” Mack asked as he slipped a sliver of his crust under the table. “Are we thinking some sort of mutated bear?”

 

“Never heard of a mutation making an animal unsubstantial. I couldn’t get my teeth into it,” Phil said. “Did anyone talk to Thor? As much as I hate to say it, we could use his brother’s expertise.”

 

“He put in a call earlier today. No answer yet.” Melinda’s voice practically dripped with ice. “Can’t say I want that basket case back in town.”

 

“Someone one to fill me in?” Clint asked.

 

“Thor’s brother Loki is a specialist in folklore and mythology. He’s also a royal pain in the ass,” Trip supplied. “Every word out of his mouth is calculated to manipulate and get what he wants.”

 

“How much you want to bet he makes a play for Clint first thing? I think he’s finally given up on breaking up Jane and Thor.” Mack scrunched his nose as if he smelled something rancid. “He’ll see you as a new challenge.”

 

“Maybe he’s on the continent, if we’re lucky, and can only call,” Phil winked at Clint. “Although Clint can handle Loki.”

 

“Well, Grandma will be back on Wednesday; if there’s a local legend, she’ll know,” Trip said. He got up to get some more pizza.

 

“Mary was the archivist at the library for years and the best storyteller around these parts. You should hear her do Coyote’s tale; she puts everyone else to shame,” Phil explained. “Maybe there’s a clue to what’s going on in one of the legends.”

 

“What about hallucinations?” Clint mused. “Maybe the radiation makes people see things and what we ran into was really a bear.”

 

“But when were you exposed?” Mack asked. “Bruce thinks it was repeated trips down into the cave that got to the Johnstons.”

 

“We woke it up. That’s what he said.” Phil looked at the others. “We need to figure out what that means.”

 

“Then let’s get started,” Melinda said.

 

* * *

 

“You have got to see this” was the first thing Dr. Samson said when Clint got off the ATV he’d ridden out to the cave site. “We’ve been slowly emptying out the contents -- things squirreled away in every side cave, I tell you -- and then we found what seems to be the center of the radiation signature. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Grant stepped from behind the scientist, a scowl marring his handsome face. Whatever it was, Clint got a clear vibe it going to add to their problems. “I’ve cordoned off the area,” Grant said, jumping right in, “and cleared out all the student workers. Unfortunately, the whole site’s been trampled and contaminated.”

 

Clint’s gut twisted; Grant was talking about a crime scene. “How far in are we talking?”

 

“It’ll take a good 20 minutes to get down there and there’s a really tight squeeze. Gotta be careful of the hazmat suit. If Johnston hadn’t been so obsessive about hiding his stuff in so many places, we wouldn’t have even ventured into that cavern.” Samson handed Clint a white jumper. “I’ve already put in a call to friend of mine over at the University of Washington; she specializes in ancient native languages. We’re going to need some translation.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Bruce Banner, who’d ridden up with Clint, said. “Why did you want me here?”

 

“To determine time of death, Doc,” Grant replied.

 

“Damn,” Melinda muttered, taking her own hazmat suit. “Just what we need on top of everything else.”

 

The last three days had been a fruitless search for connections and clues. An avalanche of data flowed in from other departments but no clear explanation came out of the hours of reading. Lists of people possibly exposed were compiled and they were being checked for symptoms. The perpetrators had nothing in common; Clint was at a loss to make heads or tails of it all.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff we’ve found,” Samson said as they wound their way through plastic tubs and wooden crates. “Enough of those astronaut meals to feed the whole town for a year. The sterno gas I understand, but three boxes full of porn? Not the classic stuff, mind you, no _Playboy_ , not even _Hustlers_. Degrading smut like _Pussy Galore_ and _Busty Asian Beauties_.”

.

Melinda coughed and Samson glanced over at her, a guilty shadow crossing his face. “Oh, sorry, Deputy. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

“Oh, I agree it’s degrading and disgusting.” Melinda gave the scientist one of her scary smiles.

 

“Right. Yes.” Samson stumbled over a bit of uneven ground. “Well, this way. We’ve got lights and masks by the entrance.”

 

The cave’s mouth had once been hidden behind brush but the area had been cleaned off to make way for the scientist and his student assistants. Shored up with timber beams, the first part of the entrance was wide enough, floor smoothed down by lots of feet. Then branches began to splinter off, each one carefully marked with chalk symbols. Through the breathing mask, the tunnel looked like an old time sepia picture with shadows burned around the edges. Talking was difficult, voices muffled by the filters, so Clint watched the turns, noting which forks they took as they worked their way deeper inside. At one point, the walls narrowed in, just a slit of room to pass through; Clint turned sideways, sucked in his gut, and squeezed through.

 

Stalactites hung down, water dripping; the ceiling soared up in the oval cavern, opening up the space. On the far side, electric lanterns burned, lighting up an area strewn with large stones. As they neared, Clint saw that the stones were in a rough circle, the lanterns pointed at a tumbled mass leaning against one of the tallest ones.

 

As he got closer, the mass became a slumped body, looking like a prop from a horror movie. Only bits of flesh were left hanging onto the white bones, holes gnawed through fabric clinging to misshapen limbs. Arranged around the body were clay pots with broken pots; dark ash filled the bottom of each one, sides charred and shards scattered. Drawn on the stone’s pitted face were symbols, smudged and dark swipes that looked nothing like letters much less words.

 

“Ritualistic.” Clint squatted down, careful not to disturb the area around the corpse more than he had to. “Or at least made to look that way.” The mask made it hard to see, so Clint tilted his head. ”HI-Tech boots, hardly any wear on the tread. Tag Heuer watch, Hugo Boss polo … this guy had some money.” The glint in the dirt caught his eye. “Signet ring. Looks like ...Princeton Law. Can’t see the class year, but I bet the name is engraved on the inside.”

 

“The body still shows signs of bloating but the teeth have fallen out. Based upon the loseness of the skin, I’d say he’s been here at least two weeks, but not much more.” Bruce directed the beam of his light onto the yellow cotton of what was left of the man’s shirt. “Knife wounds, slicing motion … see the clean edges here and here? … and from the posture of the body, I’d say he was tied to the rock and let fall after he was cut down.”

 

“Eighteen days.” Clint shared a glance with May. ”Let’s get forensics down here and let them get started. Once they’re done, we can …”

 

The body shifted and black goo leaked from the mess, oozing out and running down towards the floor. Lanterns flickered like batteries running dry; Clint shook his flashlight hard, twice, before it blinked out. Around them, shadows curled from behind stones, slithering across the stony floor, advancing on them all.

 

“Interesting,” Bruce said, stepping closer to the body. “There are some mummies that excrete something similar, but I’ve never heard of it happening outside a controlled environment.”

 

One of the floor lamps went out, shadows plunging in to fill the void. Every hair on the back of Clint’s neck stood straight out; the scratches on his arm and leg began to burn. Standing up, he took two steps back.

 

“Let’s save the closer examination for later,” he said. “Looks like we’re going to lose the light in a minute; we can head back and get more batteries. Doc, you and Ward go on ahead; we’ll be right behind you.”

 

He got a quick glimpse of Grant’s face -- pale and sweaty, his pupils dilated -- then he sought out Melinda. She agreed with a quick nod that leaving was the best course of action.

 

“I should get a sample of this,” Bruce was saying, oblivious to the others. “I wish I’d brought a sample bottle; this could be a unique occurrence …”

 

Only the brush of the tiniest breeze gave Clint a warning. Turning, he dodged to the left, stumbling over the uneven ground as the creature lunged by. May shouted Bruce’s name, but the doctor had no time to react before the mass landed squarely on his back, carrying him to the floor. Claws went to work, ripping through yellow fabric and Bruce’s clothes.

 

“Light. We need a bright light,” Clint told Melinda. He tossed his useless flashlight aside and grabbed on of the remaining lamps, directing it at the creature. “Flares worked last time.”

  
  


Holding the lamp by the pole, he swung the halogen bulb right through the middle of the creature’s body. It flowed apart and scattered into pockets of black around the room. Bruce gasped and stood; scratches marred his back and sides, his clothes hanging in tatters.

 

“Let’s go,” Clint said, catching Bruce’s arm and tugging him. “Don’t give it time to reform.”

 

They squeezed through the narrow passage, Melinda in the lead and Clint last. Ward waited on the other side, worry evident on his face, but he didn’t question Clint’s order to get going to the surface. Sunlight was the only safety Clint could think of.

 

Suddenly darting from the opening, the creature pounced, latching onto Bruce’s leg. With a strangled cry, Bruce yanked his mask off, threw his head back and roared. A deep throated, bass level roar like an angry animal. Only when Bruce began ripping his clothes off did Clint remember that he was both a Bishop and a Ward. Fur sprouted from pale skin, muscles shifting into new positions as Bruce morphed from human into bear. Nails became claws, teeth lengthened and his brown irises spread to cover his whole eye.

 

A grizzly stood up on his hind legs, grappling with the shadow, slashing deep into the darkness with his claws and teeth. Black bled from the wounds, oozing along Bruce’s legs and down his snout. With a flick, Bruce threw the creature against a wall, the ceiling shaking, a rain of rock and dust cascading down. On impact, it burst and spattered goblets across the room; drops landed on Clint’s mask, hissing as if annoyed by the barrier.

 

“It’s over, Bruce.” Melinda stepped closer to the bear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

Paws wiped across his face, the black ooze dotting his hide. Lifting his head, Bruce growled at May. His eyes flashed green, lips curling up at the edges, and, without warning, he lashed out, swinging one big paw and catching Melinda as she raised her arm to ward the blow. Clint heard the crack of bone; Melinda spun out of reach, cradling her arm to her chest.

 

“Ward, get Samson back in the cave,” Clint said. “You too, Mel. I’ll distract him.”

 

Dropping to all fours, Bruce turned his glowing gaze to Clint, tracking his every movement. A shimmer of green extended over the massive body, casting an eerie light on the tunnel walls. Clint couldn’t risk watching the others; an angry grizzly could kill him with one swipe.

 

“Listen to me, Bruce. It’s the shadow, okay? Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not you,” Clint spoke in soothing tones. “Take a breath, calm down and we’ll get through this.”

 

The growling never stopped as Bruce stalked closer to Clint. Step by step, Clint inched back.

 

“You’re a scientist, Bruce. Think about this. Whatever this black goo is, it’s infected you. You need medical treatment.” Just a few more steps and Clint would be at the opening of the narrow passage.

 

Rumble turned to roar as Bruce reared up, towering over Clint, so tall he was hunched against the ceiling of the cave, pressing his shoulders against the earth above. No time left, Clint flat out ran for it; he turned sideways to get through the gap and saw the claws coming, felt them catch the material of his suit and the sting of breaking skin, and then he was through, tumbling into the cavern beyond, lights blinding him for a moment. Bruce roared on the other side, too big to pass through. The walls shook as the full weight of a grizzly slammed into the rock.

 

“Well, that was fun,” Clint said, leaning against the wall and refusing to get up.

 

Melinda put the last of the working lamps in place around them, making a spot so bright the shadows couldn’t get in. “You have a strange definition of fun,” she said. “Must be a New York thing.”

 

Clint started laughing, the close call too fresh in his mind. “Come to beautiful Montana. Get trapped in a cave with an angry grizzly. Great sales pitch, don’t you think?”

 

“Bombs, guns, radiation, and bear rampages.” Grant shook his head, chuckling himself. “Bruce will get tired of us and head to the surface.”

 

“Maybe he’ll eat those astronaut meals and read some porn,” Clint suggested. “Then he’ll take a nap.”

 

“Or get a stomachache. Dried ice cream?” Melinda actually cracked a smile then winced as she twisted her shoulder..

 

Clint sobered, humor drying up as quickly as it came. “”We need to set your arm.”.

 

“I can wait until we get to the surface; it’s a clean break.” May gazed at the passageway where Bruce still growled at them. “He usually takes to the mountains when he changes; I hope he follows pattern.”

 

“Excuse me, but what the hell is going on?” Dr. Samson asked. “Did Dr. Banner just turn into a bear? And what was that creature? Is there something down here with us?”

 

“Yeah, Doc, I’m afraid there is. And I intend to find out exactly what’s going on,” Clint replied.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God, I’m hungry.” Everything smelled so good; as he piled his plate high, exhaustion slipped away and a warm feeling took its place. “And I’m sorry about being MIA this week. The job is partially why I can’t maintain a relationship.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Tell me about it,” Phil said as he forked up a big bite. “Between after school activities at night and on weekends, meetings, politics, and endless paperwork, I know exactly what you mean. Have to be creative about finding time. Like eating at your desk together.”
> 
>  
> 
> The warmth spread and Clint smiled as much to himself as to Phil. “Yeah. I feel better already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up your seatbelts. The boys get a few moments together in this chapter and then things start exploding in chapters 9, 10, & 11\. Chapter 9 is drafted, 10 almost done, and 11 plotted out. Chapter 12 will be the conclusion of the tale. So glad you're all enjoying this ride with me!

“I’m beginning to think hiring you was a mistake.”

 

Derek Bishop charged into Clint’s office, not bothering to shut the door.

 

“Hello to you too.” Clint didn’t have time for Derek’s bullshit. The man was here to be seen, riding his righteous anger through the crowd of reporters outside the front doors. Someone had tipped them off about the body; fortunately the rampaging grizzly hadn’t been mentioned and Clint notched that one up to the pure craziness of the tale.

 

“The whole town has gone to hell since you showed up. Have you even talked to Joe? Seems to me you might take advantage of his experience and quit fucking things up.”  Derek stared at Clint, slamming his hands onto the desk.

 

“While I can appreciate theatrics as much as the next guy, we have work to do here, Derek. Go bitch to the media and let us get to it.” Clint was past caring what Bishop thought.

 

“Son of a bitch. I hired you, I can fire you.” Derek’s face grew redder as he spoke. “No one talks to me that way.”

 

“Actually, I do.” Natasha stood in the squad room, bags of sandwiches in her hands. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Bish. I think the other eight Council members would disagree that you can fire the Sheriff.”

 

“Romanova.  Why the hell are you here?” Bishop clenched his hands into fists. “This is none of your business.”

 

“We ordered lunch. No one’s made eating illegal that I remember.” Melinda put her hands on her hips. “Now get out of our way and let us get back to work.”

 

“And that’s the reason you didn’t get the job,” Bishop huffed. “I just came to tell you that Christian is flying in; we’re holding a joint press conference later today. At least it will look like someone’s on the ball.” No one stopped him as he paraded out of the station, making sure to bang the glass doors as he passed through.

 

“Great. Last thing we need is a politician grandstanding,” Trip grumbled. “And a Ward at that. He’ll turn it into a campaign platform for his Senate run.”

 

“Skye, can you find out when that conference is scheduled? May as well be prepared.” Clint took the white butcher paper wrapped sandwich Natasha offered him.  “Thanks, Nat.”

 

“Don’t let Bishop get to you,” the redhead said. “He’s looking for a way to make money off of this. Opportunities to get rich never pass him by.” She put some soda and an individual bag of chips on his desk. “Let me know if you need dinner. I’ve got a pot of beef stew on.”

 

As he took a bite of the corned beef on rye, Clint shifted in his seat; he couldn’t find a comfortable position. Absently, he rubbed his bicep where Bruce’s claws had scratched him. “Okay, let’s go back to the Salmon case.”

 

“You need to get that looked at.” Natasha paused at the counter. “Darce, get the med kit and patch him up.”

 

“Are you wounded?” Melinda asked, her head coming up from the file she was reading. “When did it happen?”

 

“It’s just a scratch on my arm. Nothing to worry about.” Clint was more interested in the forensic results. “Anyone heard from the site? Grant call in?”

 

“Jemma’s still down in the cave,” Trip answered. “They took the portable lights from the road crew and lit the whole thing up. Grant should be checking in at the top of the hour.”

 

“I thought you volunteered to go with her. For protection.” Darcy grinned at Trip, winking broadly. “Wouldn’t want Jemma getting hurt now, would we?”

 

Trip had the good graces to blush, turning his head away to hide the fondness in his eyes. “Nobody’s safe with people getting murdered,” he grumbled.

 

Darcy laid the white metal box on Clint’s desk beside the stack of files he had just finished going through. Two more stacks still waited, paperwork and follow ups he needed to tackle next. “Okay, I’ve been wanting to say this. Take off that shirt, big boy, and let me see your muscles.”

 

“I really don’t need …” Clint started to protest. Darcy scrunched up her nose and glared at him.

 

“I will call Phil and rat you out,” Darcy warned. “And Steve. I’ll get Steve on your case.”

 

“Oh, fine. Spray some neosporin on and slap a band-aid over it. I’ve got work to do.” Clint stood, pulled his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned the brown khaki. Underneath he wore a plain white t-shirt; Darcy scowled when she saw it.

 

“I had you pegged as a going commando type,” she groused as she took out a tube of antibiotic gel. “Not old man undershirts.”

 

“Part of the uniform.” Clint had to smile as Darcy checked out the long scratch on his bicep. “Now off-duty … ouch. That’s cold.”

 

“Yeah, serves you right. There’s already reddening around the wound; you could have ended up with an infection, maybe even sepsis and died.” She was none too gentle as she slathered the gel and put a rectangular white bandage over the area. “Animal’s claws hold all kinds of bacteria. First thing I learned when I moved here; don’t play with the wild ones.”

 

“Thanks, Darce,” Clint said as he put his shirt back on. “Guess I’ll have to stick to stodgy principals.”

 

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, I think Coulson has some of the mountain in him.”

 

* * *

 

“... which is why I’ve introduced legislation to add money to the EPA budget for the hiring of more inspectors and funding for mine upkeep.”

 

Christian Ward had the same dark eyes as Grant, the same brown hair. In his Brooks Brothers suit, he cut an imposing figure, standing on the courthouse steps, the small park across the street a perfect backdrop. Even the flag was waving in a spring breeze, occasionally snapping as the fabric folded and unfurled.

 

“Representative Ward.” Ben Ulrich’s voice was the first one to get a question out. “Doesn’t that bill grant contracts to Bishop International to take over park lands and develop them?”

 

Even on the television, Clint could tell the smile Christian Ward had on his face was fake. “Maintaining the safety of mines and caves is my primary concern; it is true that there would need to be roads for access, but only to do the necessary work. Plus, the jobs would be a boon to the community.”

 

“Mr, Bishop!” Jessica Drew practically jumped a head above the others to get noticed. “Rumor is that you’ve withdrawn you support for Sheriff Barton. Do you have a statement on his performance?”

 

Unlike the Representative, Derek looked sour and unhappy as if he had sucked on a lemon. “As I said in my statement, I have confidence in the Ravalli County Sheriff’s office’s ability to handle the situation. Those are good men and women who are doing their best.”

 

“But what about the Sheriff specifically? Do you regret your decision to hire him?” Drew pressed. “Sources say you’ve contacted Joe Donovan about coming back.”

 

“If I may,” Ward stepped in as Bishop began to sputter out an answer. “We in no way wish to question the ongoing investigation. Our purpose today is to call attention to the environmental dangers.”

 

“Bullshit,” Darcy told the figure on the screen in the break room. “He’s a politician; all he does is lie.”

 

In his pocket, Clint’s phone vibrated; pulling it out, he recognized the number on the screen. He nodded to Melinda and left the room, thumbing the answer icon as he headed into his office.

 

“Luke, how are you doing?” Clint asked.

 

“Clint Barton! Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you this soon. You ready to come back from the wilds? Missing good Thai food yet?” Luke Cage replied. In the background, Clint could hear classical music playing.

 

“Nah, I like it out here. Room to breathe.” Clint chuckled. “ How’s that baby of yours?”

 

“Growing like a weed, man. Next thing I know, I’m going to be putting the fear of God into her boyfriends.” A muffled thump and a woman’s voice said something too low to hear. “Jessica says hello, by the way.”

 

“Tell her hi back.” Clint did miss his New York friends. “Actually I’m calling to ask a favor, if you and Danny aren’t too busy to take on a case. I’m paying, too.”

 

“Whoa, Clint Barton’s coughing up money? Must be official business. Gotta like having the man in charge of the budget for a friend. Hit me with the details; things are slow right now and we could use an easy paycheck.”

 

“It’s a simple background job. I need you to find out everything you can on a Leland Owlsley, Jr.  Graduated Princeton Law School in 1989.” Clint intended to give Luke more details but Luke cut in.

 

“The Owl’s kid? Wow, Clint, you don’t do anything by halves, do you? Kid’s been missing for about three weeks now; the assumption on the streets is that he’s at the bottom of the river, put there by one of his dad’s business associates. The man launders money for every bigwig criminal in town.” Luke’s voice grew muffled then came back stronger. “There, switched rooms. Don’t want the little one hearing bad words. Jessica will kick my ass if I cuss in front of the baby. Anyway, what the hell brought him to your attention?”

 

“We may or may not have found his body,” Clint told his friend. “A class ring with his name inscribed was found on site but no other identification. Preliminary tests say the body’s the right age,  but we need dental records or some DNA to test against. I called Jake Lamont; he’s looking into the missing person report the mother filed. What I need from you is a reason Owlsley would be in Montana, a connection to Bishop or someone here.”

 

“Yeah, Betsy should help you out. Leland didn’t want her going to the police in the first place; too much attention to his not so legal work. But if she thinks you’ve found her son, she’ll cooperate. Jess can get to her; they both work on the Renewal Commission for Hell’s Kitchen. I’ll get her to put a word in.” Luke put his hand over the phone and Clint heard muffled conversation. “She’ll do it tomorrow night; there’s an event she’s already planning on attending. Now fill me in on the details of what’s going on.”

 

Clint gave Luke as many details as he could, omitting the shadow creature and the shapeshifting. As always, Luke asked good questions, drawing out little bits and pieces to help put the case together. When Clint was done, Luke asked him how things were going after the move.

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it even if I told you,” Clint said with a laugh. “Needless to say, I’ve been busier here than back in the city. Hey, I’ve got a dog now. Bring the family out this summer and I’ll show you around. The kiddo would love to play with Lucky in the creek.”

 

“You know, maybe we will. Jessica’s always after me to take a vacation,” Luke agreed. “Keep you from getting lonely out there and I get to eat some of your famous chili.”

 

“Don’t have time to be lonely,” Clint told his friend, thinking of Phil in his bed. “I may or may not be seeing someone.”

 

“Wait. Clint Barton is dating? You have all of the Big Apple and can’t find anyone then you move to the middle of nowhere and in a month, you’re bumping uglies with some guy?” Luke laughed loudly, the sound comforting across the expanse. “Jess! You’ve got to hear this. Barton’s found him a man!”

 

“Good for him.” Jessica’s voice filtered through her husband’s chuckling. So did the cry of a baby . “Your turn for a diaper change, Luke. You can get the details later.”

 

“Gotta go grab the little one,” Luke said. “But I’m calling tomorrow to get all the gossip on this guy. I can do a background check if you want.”

 

“Bucky’s already taken care of that, don’t worry,” Clint said. “Call me when you find out anything.”

“Will do, bro. Will do.”

 

For a moment, Clint stayed where he was, sitting on the edge of his desk, then he tucked his phone in his pocket and checked the time. 4:22 pm. That was an hour until the meeting he’d called with the whole crew, plenty of time for him to run home, feed Lucky and drop him off at Steve and Bucky’s for the evening where Peggy would run him ragged. Passing through the squad room, he told Melinda where he was going and jumped in his jeep, getting out of the parking lot before the press conference was over and the media horde turned its attention back towards him.

 

His mind whirled with the myriad of details, so many unconnected facts and events mixed with legends and what seemed like magic. He was a logical kind of guy, or he always thought he was; what was he doing in a place where people became animals and shadows could drive people crazy? Now a murder and a rampaging grizzly on top of it all?

 

Lucky barked a welcome as Clint came in the through the garage; after a quick trip outside, Clint filled the dog’s bowl. As the food disappeared, Clint checked the progress on the fence. A row of solid redwood planks between four by four posts, it circled the outbuilding, connecting to the driveway and framing along the side of the garage to create a large green space for Lucky. High enough -- Phil had suggested the right height -- and because it was off to the side, it didn’t block the view from the living room. Somewhere along the way, Wade had added motion sensor lights at the corners and Clint saw underground wiring for what looked like speaker mounts.

 

Tucking Lucky into the passenger seat, Clint drove back into town; stretching up with his paws, Lucky watched the world roll by, barking when someone passed as if to say hi. The dog’s antics amused Clint enough to keep his mind off the case until he pulled into Steve’s driveway. Tumbling out as soon as the door opened, Lucky raced to the front door and began pawing to get inside. Steve barely had the door cracked before the pup was inside.

 

“Hey, thanks for keeping him. He gets lonely out there by himself.” Clint stopped on the walk. “I’ll call before I pick him up. I’m shooting to head home by eleven if that’s not too late.”

 

“Nah, anytime. Buck’s a night owl, stays up and watches those awful infomercials. I had to stop him from ordering a pocket fisherman the other night.” Steve glanced back at the sound of dogs yipping.

 

“Thanks. For everything. Helping in the search today, just being here. It means a lot to me.” Clint wasn’t sure how he could get by without their support.

 

“No problem. That’s what friends do.”

 

When Clint reached the door of the Jeep, he caught sight of movement through the shrub line between properties; Phil was entering his back door. Without thinking about it, Clint cut across Steve’s backyard and used the gate to cross over, stepping on the porch and knocking before he could change his mind.

 

“Hey.” Phil looked surprised, then pleased. “I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

 

“Just dropping Lucky off to play with Peggy and I saw you.” Clint shrugged, not sure what what to say. “I’ve got to get back for a meeting in …” he looked at his watch “... twenty two minutes.”

 

“Come in,” Phil opened the door wider, letting Clint into the small, but homey kitchen. Metal cabinets lined the walls, painted a shiny white, with a formica grey countertop. The refrigerator looked like something out of the 1950s, complete with curved edges and silver trim. “I was just about to make myself a sandwich and eat while I work at the table. You want one?”

 

“Nat’s bringing over stew later, so I’m good.” He shuffled his feet about and stood in the middle of the black and white checkered linoleum floor. “You feeling okay? Your side, I mean. The wounds.”

 

“Doing just fine. I stayed off my feet as much as I could today which meant I got a lot of computer time, and now I’ve got a headache from the eyestrain. Damn bifocals.” Phil smiled as he opened the fridge and rummaged about inside. “Any word on Bruce?”

 

“A search team found his trail over by Thor’s place; he’d hit a storage shed where they keep feed for the cattle, torn the door off and made a real mess of some of the bags, but then he went into the creek and they couldn’t find where he came out. Seemed to be headed deeper into the forest, so that’s comforting.” Leaning back against the counter, Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand it, Phil. I saw Bruce the other night walking across my driveway and he was in full control. The shadow .. creature … whatever … hit him hard and fast.”

 

Phil took out a loaf of bread and a jar of olives. “Remember the story? There was a price. For the Wards and Bishops, it was even higher than ours. They lose part of their humanity when they change, become more animal. Bruce is both a Ward and a Bishop; he’s always struggled with his other self. He fights it.”   

 

“So he runs off into the forest?” Clint asked the he realized the answer. “He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

 

“His control comes and goes,” Phil explained. “I hope he comes back to himself or finds a cave to hide in.”

 

“It’s all too much.” Clint sighed. “All I can do is focus on one thing at a time. We’re working on identifying the body but it will be a day or two. It’s going to be all hands on deck until we have something concrete to go on. We’ve put in calls to a couple specialists to try and understand what ”

 

“I hear you. We’ve got AP exams next week that can’t be rescheduled, then state common core testing and an MDE visit that’s been in the works for two years. Victoria and I have been slaving over curriculum mapping and browbeating everyone to get their parts done.” Phil sighed as he sat a plastic container filled with deli ham and swiss cheese on the counter along with a jar of mayonnaise. “I swear I’m seeing spreadsheets in my sleep.”

 

The back of Clint’s neck itched and the scratches on both arms were tingling, reminding him it was time to change the bandage. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple and skirt the corner of his eye. “I should probably put a couch in my office and just sleep there,” he said. “What with the press conference this afternoon, I’ll be under a magnifying glass.”

 

“Oh, screw Derek and Christian. They’re the biggest opportunists out there. Christian was a pain in the ass in high school; knew everything about everybody and used it to his advantage. Don’t listen to them; you’re a damn good sheriff. Joe knows it, Melinda knows it, I know it … everyone does.” Phil’s eyes flashed as he spoke. “We need your experience right now; been years since we had anything this big going on.”

 

The urge to kiss Phil sprang up and before he realized it, Clint was closing the distance, sliding a hand around Phi’s jaw and cradling his cheek. Their lips came together and the heat in Clint’s belly exploded into a raw need. He hustled Phil back against the counter, trapping him there so he could kiss him more thoroughly, explore his mouth with his tongue. Rolling his hips, Clint moaned and nipped at Phil’s lip, wanting more, more kisses, more skin, more hands, just more.

 

“Oh, God, Phil,” Clint breathed against Phil’s cheek. “I could have you right now. Right here. I bet that table belonged to your mother, didn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to bend me over and fuck me on it?”

 

“Grandmother,” Phil gasped out as Clint’s hand cupped his ass and squeezed. “And yes. I”ll take you anywhere I can get you.”

 

They shuffled together across the room, not willing to break the clench or stop kissing, almost falling twice before Clint hit the edge of the heavy wooden table. Using it for balance, Clint lifted a leg and hooked it around Phil, slotting their cocks together and rubbing shamelessly.  

 

In his pocket, Clint’s phone started playing “Bad to the Bone.”

 

“Fuck.” Clint barely managed to pull back. “Fuck it all.” He dug the phone out and checked the display. A text from Melinda said that Grant was back with Jemma and ready to give a preliminary report. “Fuck,” Clint repeated. “I’ve got to go.”  He leaned in and rested his forehead on Phil’s. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have started this. It’s such a jackass thing to do. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.”

 

“And that goes right to my ego. A hot good looking man who can’t keep his hands off me?” Phil chuckled. “Go do what you need to. I’ll be here working on the art classes and their assessment tools.”

 

“Tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow night?” Clint almost begged.

 

“I”ll make myself free. Don’t worry. The table will still be here.”

 

That made Clint smile and a bit of his tension released. “Well, this will be a first; heading a meeting with a massive hard on. Should be fun. Anyone notices, I’ll them it’s your fault.”

 

Phil’s grin widened. “Good. Then they’ll know you’re spoken for.”

 

* * *

 

“A very preliminary exam confirms that the victim was killed with a serrated blade. As you can see, there were nine slashes, all placed equidistant across the sternum and rib cage, a very intentional pattern. Neat edges, almost precision slices. The cuts themselves are not enough to cause death, but combined with the blood on the ground, I believe he was left to bleed out.”

 

Jemma Simmons was in her element, leading the meeting as if she was teaching a class. She’d passed out a very detailed report that made up in clarity what it lacked in information. Finding out that she was the part time forensic scientist for the county had been a pleasant surprise. She knew her stuff, that was for sure. Clint was glad they had her to fill in for Bruce.

 

“What about the black goo?” Melinda asked when Jemma paused to take a breath.

 

“Oh, that’s the most fascinating part! It’s organic but nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’ve sent it off for further analysis. It could be something entirely new.” Her cheeks were flush with excitement. “Perhaps something mutated from the radiation.”

“Any idea of how he got down there?” Trip spoke up.

 

“We found the remains of common nautical rope used to tie him to the stone, but there’d been too many other footprints in the cave to tell anything.” Jemma smiled shyly and Tripp stammered a bit in return.

 

“W-with that small passage, I can’t imagine someone carrying him. He’d have to walk in on his own.”

 

“Which means he had to know his murderer,” Melinda added, “and went willingly.”

 

“Not hard to imagine.” Clint could see the scenario play out. “Want to see something? Ancient burial ground, secret chamber, no one’s been there before -- lure him down in the cave with a promise. Maybe even sex; let’s not make any assumptions about gender or sexuality.”

 

“Dude, I don’t know what goes on in New York City, but ‘come down in the cave and let me show you the ancient etchings’ isn’t a standard pickup line around these parts,” Trip said with a laugh.

 

“Actually, I’d probably go,” Jemma admitted, her blush deepening on her face. “I’m fascinated by Native American sites.”

 

“Have you been out to Big Hole Battlefield site?” Melinda asked. “Trip’s a history buff; he’s a great guide to have around if you want to know about Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce war.”

 

“Oh, that would be lovely! I’ve been meaning to do the whole trail since I got here.” She beamed at Trip. “As soon as school’s out we should do it.”

 

“Sure, I mean, yes, I’d love to.” Trip’s smile lit up his face.

 

* * *

 

Clint leaned back in his office chair, the springs creaking as he shifted his weight. His feet left the floor and he hung his head backwards, letting the motion of the tilt spin the chair gently. Two days. Two wasted, exhausting, freaking useless days and still nothing had been uncovered. Treading water, learning no new information, waiting and wanting tests to come back. Long hours, late nights … Clint hadn’t even made it home on Wednesday, stopping off at Steve and Bucky’s to pick up the pup and falling asleep on the couch. He’d woken to fresh clothes courtesy of Steve’s trip to his house, eggs and coffee, and two cold noses in his face.

 

Each time he called Phil to postpone yet again, he felt worse. A ball of tension grew in his chest, tightening with each hour that passed; he’d left New York because he had no time outside of work to be anything more than the detective and here he was right back in the same situation.

 

Wednesday it had been Ben Ulrich’s front page story on the cases in other towns; somehow the reporter had uncovered the connection between three of the others, splashing the details across the front page of the Missoulian. The media had gone into a feeding frenzy, sending reporters out to interview neighbors and deputies and ministers and teachers. Another press conference, this time called by Mayor Donaldson who touted Clint and his officers for uncovering the links and chasing down every lead. The station was surrounded for hours, flashes blinding anyone who tried to leave, and a flood of calls overwhelmed Darcy, thousands of tips and stories that ranged from strange lights in the mountains to demon possessed cattle. The only reason the website didn’t crash was Skye’s preventative measures that bottlenecked the inquiries and hits, keeping it up and running through the mess. Still, a few bits and pieces of good information filtered through after careful examination, enough to begin to flesh out the pattern.

 

Thursday seemed good at the start. Joe Donovan made a surprise visit to the station early in the morning, cutting short his fly fishing trip and bringing Nick Fury, head of Montana Search and Research. Nick lived out near Thor and Jane and was one of Phil’s best friends. Both of them threw their support behind Clint, joining the search for Bruce because, of course, Joe knew everything and Nick, it turned out, was a Hill. They joined Clint on the podium for the morning press briefing along with Dr. Maya Lopez, the specialist in Native American languages that Samson had called in. Joe’s no nonsense explanation about detective work not being solved in an hour like on CSI earned a lot of laughs and smiles from the weary reporters.

 

Then Thor came in with Bruce, the doctor sedated and asleep in Thor’s truck, and the shit hit the fan big time. They couldn’t take Bruce to the hospital in case he changed again, so he ended up, after much debate and some raised voices, at the house Jemma Simmons shared with Leo Fitz out on the edge of town. Jemma argued she could manage the medication so Bruce would be calm when he woke. Before Clint could ask, Trip volunteered to sit with Bruce, and Mack voted himself along as the one most likely to take Bruce down in the worst case scenario.

 

Unfortunately, Derek Bishop found out and showed up, demanding Bruce be put in jail where, according to Derek, he belonged. Clint had never been so glad to learn that the gift had skipped Derek; the man was so angry that Clint had enough to worry about without having a rabid animal on his hands. It took Joe and Nick to calm Derek down and get him out of the station without causing a scene in front of the reporters. It was almost 9 p.m. before Bruce was cognizant enough to talk and then he had very little to tell; he remembered only snatches of what he did while a bear. The fear and agony of the creature’s attack was all too vivid, but once it took over, Bruce felt only a well of burning hatred and icy cold vengeance. Clint barely made it home before midnight and was up before dawn to deliver Owlsley’s dental files to the medical examiner in Billingsly for a possible identification.

 

Opening his eyes, Clint looked around the small room that served as his office. A month on the job and the walls were still mostly bare, the bookcases empty. Only the filing cabinet was in use, filled with older material and all the data they were accumulating on this one. He hadn’t had time to do more than jump in with both feet and get to work.

 

A knock and Clint saw Phil through the glass in his door, holding up a brown bag. Motioning him in, Clint felt a smile creep across his face. “What are you up to?” he asked as Phil sat the bag on an empty space on Clint’s desk and put a drink holder beside it. “It’s … wow, is it almost seven?”

 

“Mel said you’ve been in here on the phone for all afternoon and you missed lunch so …” Phil began pulling white cartons out of the bag. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a variety. Moo Shoo Beef, Cashew Chicken, Happy Family, and dumplings. Wonton soup, rice, and egg rolls.” He dug out plates and plastic utensils.

 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Clint protested even as his stomach rumbled.

 

“If the mountain can’t come to Mohammed …” Phil pulled up a chair and passed over a soda before filling his plate. He started with a mound of white rice and added a bit of each of the dishes, taking one of the small styrofoam bowls of soup and one of the egg rolls. “Soy sauce, plum sauce, and hot mustard’s in the bag.”

 

“God, I’m hungry.” Everything smelled so good; as he piled his plate high, exhaustion slipped away and a warm feeling took its place. “And I’m sorry about being MIA this week. The job is partially why I can’t maintain a relationship.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Phil said as he forked up a big bite. “Between after school activities at night and on weekends, meetings, politics, and endless paperwork, I know exactly what you mean. Have to be creative about finding time. Like eating at your desk together.”

 

The warmth spread and Clint smiled as much to himself as to Phil. “Yeah. I feel better already.”

 

By unspoken assent, they didn’t talk about the case; instead, they chatted about their lives in the big city, Clint’s favorite sushi place in New York and Phil’s favorite breakfast spot in Chicago. They shared army stories about crazy unit members and Clint filled Phil in on the fence project at his house while Phil talked about needing to replace the knob and tube wiring in the Victorian. For thirty minutes, Clint’s life was normal, eating take out Chinese like nothing else mattered in the world. Then Darcy buzzed and said the Sheriff over in Grangeville wanted Clint to call.

 

“Work beckons,” Clint said with a sigh. “I’ve got phone calls to make before I can think about sleeping.”

 

“What about Lucky? Is he at Steve’s?” Phil asked as he began to clean up the mess.

 

“Damn, I completely forgot. He’s out at Jane’s; they took the cast off today. Steve and Bucky are gone to the VA for Buck’s check up. I better call and tell Jane I’m running late.” Clint reached for his phone.

 

“I’ll go get him and take him to your place.  We can take a walk and play some fetch for his exercise,” Phil offered. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

 

“No, no, that’s perfect. Let me get you a key and the alarm code.” Clint took one off his key ring. “The gold key opens the front door; you’ll have fifteen seconds to enter the code before the alarm goes off. Just push re-arm and you’re fine. Do the same on the outside when you leave. Help yourself to a beer, if you want and there’s lots of leftovers in the fridge.”

 

“I’ll manage.” Phil took the key, stroking his fingers along Clint’s. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

 

“At least a couple more hours. I’m aiming to get home by midnight, but if I can get all the calls made and paperwork done, I can sleep late in the morning, so I might stay.” Clint surveyed the pile of things to do on his desk. “Thanks for this. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Anytime,” Phil replied.

 

* * *

 

Clint pushed the button on the garage remote and waited for the door to roll up, his headlights illuminating the side of the house. As he pulled in, he saw Phil’s car on the other side, neatly tucked into its slot. A smile flitted across Clint’s face; Phil had stayed. That thought got him out of the car and into the house as his bad mood lifted. He half expected to find Phil on the couch, but the living room was dark and empty, the only light the ones along on the stairs. A neat stack of papers was on the end table with a laptop next to them, Phil’s glasses lying on top. The clock on the microwave read 1:18 a.m. when Clint took left his gun and badge in the drawer and headed up to the bedroom.

 

Raising his head, Lucky woofed quietly from his place curled along Phil’s hip. The dog stood up, wobbling towards the edge of the mattress on all four legs. Clint’s scratched Lucky’s head and scooped the dog off the bed, taking him into the closet with him. Fascinated by Clint’s shoe laces, Lucky danced around his feet as he took off his boots. Clothes in the hamper, Clint stopped in the bathroom then paused by the dresser to grab a pair of sleep pants.

 

“Don’t bother,” Phil said. “I’m just going to take them off of you either now or in the morning.”

 

“I thought you were asleep.” Clint went from tired to interested in seconds. “But as long as you’re not …”

 

Phil pushed down the blanket and sheet; he was gloriously naked. “Join me?”

 

Leaving his briefs on the floor, Clint made the mistake of taking the hand Phil offered; in one smooth move, Phil tumbled Clint onto the bed and rolled them over so he was straddling Clint.

 

“Now I believe you said something about getting fucked?” In the wash of the dim light, Phil’s eyes sparkled, a teasing grin playing at the edges of his mouth. “Because I, for one, have been thinking of nothing else for days.”

 

“That offer involved a table, I seem to remember.” Clint lifted his hips and rubbed their cocks together, his own fleshing out and growing harder with each move. “My bed is a completely different thing.”

 

“Oh, really?” Phil caught a wrist in each hand and raised them above Clint’s head, pressing them down into the pillow. “I think I’ve got the upper hand at the moment.”

 

A thrill ran through Clint as he tried to free himself; Phil’s knees pressed in on his hips and Clint couldn’t break Phil’s hold. “You really are an Alpha, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice breathy with need. “Okay, I give. Hold me down and fuck me to your heart’s content.”

 

The sound that came from Phil’s throat was as close to a growl as Clint had ever heard a human make. It rattled deep in his gut and dragged a gasp from his lips before Phil’s mouth took his, swallowing the moan that followed. Phil was thorough, tasting every corner of Clint’s mouth , running his tongue along Clint’s teeth, sucking on his lips. Then Phil kissed his way along Clint’s jaw and down his neck, nipping at his collarbone and sliding down to the nipples that were aching to be touched. Pleasure overtook all other concerns, bouying Clint upward like a wave building, and Clint let himself go, untied his senses from the moorings and rode the tide.

 

Phil’s mouth left trails of heat, crisscrossing Clint’s chest, outlining each muscle, working his way down to Clint’s stirring cock. Sliding back, Phil bent his head and teased the tip with his tongue, flicking lightly then ghosting a breath across. Clint jerked and moaned, closing his eyes as moist heat engulfed him, Phil easing down slowly, each bob of his head taking more in. Even when Phil’s hands curled around Clint’s hips, Clint kept his arms above his head, taking one wrist in his other hand.

 

“Please,” Clint murmured. “Please, Phil.”

 

What he begged for, Clint wasn’t sure. A moment of release, an hour without thought, a weekend without worry, or a lifetime of knowing this. It didn’t matter; all of it or none of it, Clint wanted. He whimpered when Phil’s mouth left him hanging on the edge of an orgasm, lifted up when Phil tucked a pillow underneath his hips, and spread his legs as Phil settled between them,

 

“Been awhile,” he told Phil. “I don’t usually … Last guy I dated, over a year ago, was just hand jobs and blow jobs. And before that, well …” Clint chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve never met someone I wanted to bottom for as much I as do you.”

 

A slick finger circled then pushed up to the first knuckle before it retreated to do it again. “I like that,” Phil told him, leaning forward onto one hand as the other worked Clint open. “I can’t tell you how much I want to be inside of you. Feel your warmth, your tight ass clenching around me.” Every word shot right to Clint’s cock, making it jump in anticipation. “When you pulled over that day, I hoped you couldn’t see how hard I was the whole ride to Mack’s.”  Phil slipped a second finger in with the first. “Breathe for me, baby. That’s it. Relax.”

 

The last bit of tension ran out of Clint, and he exhaled as Phil twisted and bent his fingers. Looking up, Clint saw the stars above them, Phil’s blue eyes the brightest of them all. “Phil.” He sighed the word in full surrender.

 

Dipping his head, Phil brushed his lips along Clint’s once, twice, three times. He nosed into Clint’s hair, cheek sliding against cheek, and nipped at Clint’s ear just as he added a  third finger. “Tell me you want me,” he whispered.

 

“Now, Phil. Please. I want you inside me.”

 

When he had the condom on and slicked up, Phil lifted Clint’s hips and pressed in, slow but steady, filing him inch by inch. He started with slow rolls, barely moving; Clint grabbed onto Phil’s biceps and rode the motion, adding his own, meeting Phil and squeezing his muscles with each increasing thrust. They went on that way until Phil was sweating, his abs clenching as he moved. Harsh, ragged breathing made Clint’s chest ache, but the growing sense of his approaching orgasm felt too good to stop.

 

“Almost,” Phil panted. “Just need to …” He adjusted his position, hooking Clint’s knees over his shoulders and rising to his knees. His hands held Clint tight and still as he sped up his thrusts, rocking the bed and pushing Clint towards the headboard. Putting his hands against the wood, Clint braced himself, curved his back and shouted as Phil hit the right spot.

 

“Fuck!” Clint refused to close his eyes, needing to see Phil’s face as he came.  “So close, Phil. So … damn … close.”

 

Phil’s rhythm stuttered, he gasped then grunted, shoving in deep as he came. His hand curved around Clint’s cock and pumped until Clint cracked, his orgasm hitting him hard.

 

“God,” Phil mumbled, lowering them both to the bed. “That was …”

 

“Yeah.” Clint ran a hand through Phil’s hair. “It was.”

 

“If I collapse and go to sleep, take that as a compliment, okay?” Phil huffed a small laugh and draped himself across Clint’s body. “If fact, I might not be able to move for awhile.”

 

Clint chuckled and gave Phil a slightly goof and entirely sated grin. “Sounds like a plan, although your ass might get cold if we don’t cover up.”

 

“Grrrrr,” Phil mock growled. He snagged the edge of the blanket with a foot and raised his knee until he could catch it with his fingers and pull it over them. “There. See? Besides, I run hot, so I’ll keep you warm.”

 

“That I know,” Clint said, running his fingers along Phil’s spine. “Furry you is a little heat engine. I have to admit I kind of liked it.”

 

Phil cracked one eyelid and looked at Clint. “Are you joking? Because I know that’s weird, the whole sleeping with a wolf thing. I can’t promise it won’t happen again. Sometimes I shift in my sleep.”

 

“Turns out, I find tails in my face endearing.” Clint’s hand stilled and he got serious for a moment. “I’ll take you both ways, Phil. It definitely doesn’t bother me.”

 

“Then you’d be the first,” Phil mumbled, burying his head in the crook of Clint’s neck as he got comfortable.

 

“Good,” Clint said. “I like it that way.”

 

A whine came from the floor, the scrabble of paws then the blanket shifted and Lucky lept onto the bed. Clint sighed; so much for keeping him off. Sniffing their scents, Lucky wiggled his head under Phil’s hand and stretched out along Clint’s side.

 

“Now see what you’ve started,” Clint groused. “I’ve got a puppy pile in my bed.”

 

Phil’s laugh rumbled in his chest as he stroked Lucky’s head. “I don’t see you kicking us off.”

 

“No.” Clint wound his arm around Phil’s waist and his other hand in Lucky’s fur. “I guess you don’t.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like you could use a drink.” Natasha slid a glass of ice and brown liquor across the bar. “These things can get pretty crazy.”
> 
> Clint picked up the glass and turned it around once then twice. “I’ve got no fucking clue what’s happening. Can’t anyone just tell me or do I have to deal with this mystic woo-woo stuff? People are going to keep dying.”
> 
> She smiled that way she had of showing both affection and amusement at the same time. “The mystic woo-woo stuff has worked for centuries. Why change now?”
> 
> “Because I’m as dense as a post and need a big fucking neon sign?” He sniffed before he took a small sip. Smooth scotch slid down his throat.
> 
> “Maybe you’re not asking the right question,” she said with a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in this chapter I earn that explicit rating and the other exotic tags. 
> 
> This is the start of the denouement or the cresting of the action. Chapter 10 is already written and beta'd; it will be up later this coming week. Chapter 11 is almost finished and will be off to my lovely beta in the next day or two. Chapter 12 is the wind down epilogue. So hold on tight, shit is hitting the fan, as we say in the South. :)

_He ran, stumbling over the uneven ground, trees looming as dark lines in the fog. He didn’t dare look behind; hot breath warmed his neck and the growl was close, almost upon him. Rage flowed around him, a wind that stirred his own anger; years full of hate weighed down his feet, slowing his progress._

 

_The creature darted across the path in front of him then beside, hemming him in and herding him forward. The trees shuddered and drew back as Clint tumbled to a stop, dropping to his knees, unable to run any more. Above, the moon waxing then beginning to wane as Clint watched._

 

_From the trees emerged a wolf, fur catching the moonlight and blue eyes gleaming. He stalked around Clint, paused, and sent up a howl, staking his claim. The world warped and Clint was spread out on a soft bed of clover, his bare skin warmed by the sun. Wolf Phil nosed his way up Clint’s chest, tickling the hairs; his tongue snuck out to lick the tip of Clint’s nipple and Clint gasped at the rough sensation. Fur dragged along Clint’s abs, tongue bathed him all over, and panting breaths left hotspots as Phil worked lower and lower.  The first touch of nose to his cock made Clint jump, sensitive skin rubbed with rough wet tongue until Clint moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the trees._

 

_Lower Phil went, his snout delving between Clint’s legs -- around his balls, the smooth skin behind, and across his puckered hole. The breeze kicked up and blew across his body, cool counterpoint to the spark inside, fanning it to a blaze. Clint arched his back and tightened his knees around Phil’s middle as he felt his climax coming._

 

_“Stop fighting it.”_

 

_Clint’s eyes flew open; the shadow loomed over him, blotting out the last sliver of moon._

 

_“You will be my voice, my weapon.”_

 

_The mass shifted, a head emerging, glittering teeth dripping drool._

 

_“I have been freed. And you will all pay.”_

 

_The mouth snapped and Clint screamed …_

 

Shooting upright in bed with a startled cry, Clint scared Lucky who tumbled off the edge and rolled up barking. Clint’s mind was awhirl, his chest tight with fear, and his cock aching and hard. Moments passed before he could suck in a breath, every shadow seeming to lurk in the corner and stare.

 

“Clint.” A warm hand on his shoulder and a soft voice. “Clint, it’s a dream. Just a dream.”

 

Phil, solid and real, put his arm around Clint’s shoulder and stroked his fingers down Clint’s arm. Slowly, the room came into focus and Clint’s eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn darkness. The covers shifted as Lucky jumped, front claws digging in as he scrabbled up the side. His head nudged Clint’s hand and he crawled onto Clint’s lap, his chin resting along one outstretched thigh.

 

“A dream. Yeah.” Clint shivered. “Sorry I woke you.”

 

“I’ve had my share of bad dreams,” Phil said. “After what I saw in Iraq, it took a long time for me to put it all in perspective. Still have them on occasion. I wasn’t sure if I should try to wake you or not; Sam says sometimes that’s dangerous.”

 

“I got that spiel about how to deal with Bucky.” Thinking about mundane normal things was settling.  “This wasn’t about the war though; it was about the creature. It was stalking me and then it talked to me.”

 

“Really? What did it say? I mean, it might help to say it out loud,” Phil said. Another of Sam’s therapy tips was to get things out in the open.

 

“That I was its voice and weapon and it was awake now.” A frisson of fear ran down Clint’s spine. “Then it started to eat me. That’s when I woke up.”

 

“Makes sense, actually.” Phil eased Clint back down and covered them both up; Lucky shifted as Clint turned onto his side and snuggled up to Phil’s heat. “I bet your mind never stopped working on the problem -- that’s a danger for problem solvers like us -- and it’s been trying to find answers while you were sleeping.”

 

“That it needs a host of some kind to speak and act.” The logic of the statement went a long way towards driving the dream away. “A voice and a weapon. And it’s just woken up with a big chip on its shoulder towards … us? the town? humans in general? … and wants to make them pay. Which means someone or something or somehow it was put to sleep.”

 

“A murder makes a good wake up call,” Phil conjectured. “Anger, hatred, blood … that might call to it.”

 

“But why would one murder in one place cause people all around the mountain range to be infected, if that’s the right word.” That part still eluded Clint. “And why those people? Dennis and his father were down in the cave, but so have others. Why them?”

 

“A simple matter of opportunity? Take what it can?” Phil yawned, breaking his train of thought.

 

“Sorry,” Clint apologized. “Go back to sleep. The problem will still be there in the morning.”

 

“Maybe I’ll dream the solution,” Phil mumbled into Clint’s hair then he quietened, his breathing evening out.

 

Clint lay still remembering the other part of the dream, the sun and the fur and cool clover. With a whine, Lucky tried to climb between them; Clint picked the pup up and moved him. The dog whimpered once the circled three times and made a spot for himself in the bend of Clint’s knees.

 

“You said my name.” Phil’s voice was quiet, no more than a whisper. “Was I …”

 

“The dream wasn’t all bad. You were in the good part.” Clint exhaled slowly, his mouth buried in the curve of Phil’s neck. “Wolf you. Outside in the sun. It was … nice.”

 

A long pause then Phil spoke again. “Wolf me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

And Clint drifted back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean the sample is unusable?” Clint practically shouted into the receiver. His blood was boiling, anger spilling over into his voice and his clenched fist. “I can assure you that the proper chain of evidence was followed on our end; the screw up had to be on your side of things.”

 

His day, which had started out so well, was quickly devolving into one clusterfuck after another. After a long, leisurely shower with Phil which involved much more than just washing and included trying out the tiled bench for the right height, Clint had come to work with hopes to make some progress on the case. Instead, he’d been greeted by the news that Alexander Johnston had slipped into a coma overnight, his brain functions dropping dangerously low. They’d put him on a respirator and feeding tube; the prognosis wasn’t good. Then he’d heard that Bruce had to be sedated again after an aborted attempt to shift; according to Trip, Banner had begged for Jemma to put him under so he wouldn’t hurt anyone. The voice, he’d kept repeating, was telling him to go do bad things.

 

Even worse, someone had tried to get access to the cave in the early morning hours, running afoul of Melinda’s heightened senses and her useful paranoia that led her to check out the cave again to see if she’d missed anything. And now the crime lab in Missoula was telling him that the samples Jemma sent were contaminated and they needed another set which was impossible since the body had been moved and taken to the funeral home that served as a local morgue.

 

“Look. Dr. Simmons herself put those together. She worked for the FBI before she came here. I’m pretty sure she’s got more experience than your lab techs.” Clint had had enough. “I’ll have her do a complete panel for you, again, and we’ll express ship it there, but I’d like to move to the front of the line. It’s the least you can do for us.”

 

Excuses. All Clint needed now was for … and of course he looked up to see Derek Bishop and Christian Ward enter the squad room. What else could go wrong today?

 

“Yes, that will do. I’ll have it on the road in a couple hours. Maybe fly it there.” Clint thought about Stark’s offer of help; surely Tony knew someone with a helicopter or small plane. He hung up the cordless phone on his desk and steeled himself for battle.

 

“Sheriff Barton!” Christian Ward crossed over to Clint, offering a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Grant’s been telling me only good things about you.”

 

There was nothing to do but shake the man’s hand; Christian’s palm was cool, his grip the perfect level of tightness, the shake short and sweet. “Representative Ward. I’ve seen you on TV.”

 

Christian’s eyebrows raised but his smile never wavered. “A downside of the job,” he replied. “Cameras everywhere. So I hear you bought the Pym place outside of town. If I’d have known that was up for sale, I’d have jumped on it. Lovely place and great construction.”

 

“I happen to be looking the day they decided.” Clint wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but he was sure Christian had a point to make. “I don’t think it technically ever got listed. Guess I was lucky.”

 

“Indeed. That area’s ripe for development; with the influx of eastern moneymakers and Hollywood types drawn to the festival, the town is going to reap the benefits. Be nice to have the Sheriff living out there; good publicity if you know what I mean.” Christian nodded as if Clint had agreed. “Anyway, about this radiation danger. I’ve put in a call to a friend at the EPA who can streamline the process to get federal funds for clean up and containment. As soon as they’re able to access the site, we can get started.”

 

“How long are you going to keep that cave roped off?” Bishop demanded, stepping into the conversation. “The longer you drag out this murder thing, the worse it is for the town’s PR.”

 

Before Clint could respond, Christian answered. “Jesus, Bish, you’ve been reading too many of those Patterson novels. Good police work takes time. You want them to find out who killed that man, don’t you?”

 

“Well, of course I do. But, damn it, we’re being made to look like a hick town with crazies running around, hepped up on radiation and committing murders. Think of what that will do to the tourist season?” Bishop complained.

 

“Tourism and money is your cup of tea,” Clint said, his patience at an end. “I’ve got a murderer to find; that’s what I do and that’s why you hired me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s work to be done.”

 

“Of course,” Christian replied. “Any help you need from me or my office, just let us know.”

 

“Now Barton, I don’t think …”  Bishop began.

 

Clint walked down the hall and right on out the back door into the cooler air. His skin felt like it was on fire, his head filled with the urge to turn around and slam his fist into Bishop’s face. All about money, that’s what it was for him. Where the hell did Derek Bishop get off demanding they rush the investigation? Maybe Bishop was hiding something. After all, he was a wealthy man with connections all over the country. Maybe he knew the Owlsleys and had lured Lee out here. Hell, Bishop was probably hip deep in deals with mobsters like the Owl.

 

Rounding a corner, Clint realized he was near Wade’s Hardware store and the small memorial that marked the spot where the original settlers built their first cabins. A memorial limestone column was in the middle of the green space, and Clint sat down in one of the four benches that framed the area. Now that his brain had a target, he began running down the leads, growing angrier by the minute. What he needed was to find Bishop and get some answers. Make him sit down and tell the truth about what he wanted, what was going on. He should …

 

His phone vibrated in his pocket; the number surprised him.

 

“Matt? To what do I owe this honor?” Clint answered the phone.

 

“Can’t I just call to say hi to an old friend?” Matt Murdock asked.

 

“Considering that I just asked Luke for some help a few days ago, color me suspicious,” Clint said. “So how is life for the most overworked and underpaid lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen?”

 

“Same old, same old. We’ve got three cases that are running us ragged and it’s ramen noodles until we win one,” Matt replied. In the background, Clint could hear the familiar sounds of the city, horns and cars and construction. “I hear you’re seeing someone. About damn time.”

 

“Well, some of us are pickier than others,” Clint protested. “But, yeah, there’s someone. He’s great, the principal of the high school, an army vet like me. No, that makes him sound stodgy; he’s got a bit of a wild side.”

 

“Now I definitely want to meet him.” Matt chuckled. “Bring him to the city when you come back for a visit.”

 

“And introduce him to all you guys? You’ll tell him the worst stories about me.”

 

“Of course we will. That’s part of the fun,” Matt agreed. “But you’re right; I’ve got some information for you. One of Foggy’s old girlfriends works at Landman and Zack and guess who they represent?”

 

“Owlsley.” Clint sat up straight, his attention fully focused.

 

“Bingo. Seems the Owl was buying land, lots of it, somewhere out West and Junior was overseeing some of the purchases. The scuttlebutt is that another interested party did him in,” Matt explained. “Odds are, it was a scheme to launder money while making more. Owlsley is good at that.”

 

“Okay, that explains why he would be out here. Any word on who he was working with? Wouldn’t be Derek Bishop would it?” Clint could see how that would play out, Derek anxious to finance his dream for the town and Owlsley offering easy money.

 

“Sorry, but that’s all Marcie knows. Only the top partners deal with Owlsley; she got most of what she knows from the secretaries and travel arrangements,” Matt said. “Oh, she did mention that some politicians were involved. Federal grants or something.”

 

“Politicians.” The bottom of Clint’s stomach dropped as he thought of Bishop’s press conference, Christian Ward standing next to him on the steps. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

 

“Hope it helps. I know it’s not much; if I hear anything else, I’ll give you a call. Luke said he’s still working on it from his end.”

 

“Thanks, Matt. You’ve given me a place to start at least.” Clint stood; his earlier anger welled up again. “I’ve got some trees to rattle. That’s better than where I was.”

 

“Anytime, man. And if you come back this way, be sure to look us up. I want to meet this guy.”

 

“Will do.” Clint hung up his phone, his body virtually vibrating with the need to confront the two men. They had to be in it together; buying up property to build expensive new houses and getting in bed with the mob. There had to be a paper trail somewhere, land purchases, title exchanges. Clint was going to get Skye on the computer right away then he was going to track down Bishop and make him talk. Damn man, thinking he was above the law with his money and influence. Arrogant, needing to be taken down a peg or two. All Clint had to do was …

 

The pain was sharp and quick like a bee’s sting; Clint slapped at his neck and his fingers came away with dots of blood.

 

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hand across the burning spot of skin and came away with a small silver needle, the kind used in tranquilizer guns. They had some in the office to use when animals got too aggressive.

 

A wave of sleepiness rolled through his head; he grabbed the back of the bench to stay upright as his knees turned to water and his feet floated away. As the world faded, he saw a towering black shape loom over him and then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Shapes came first then defined into trees and branches. The ground under his legs and butt was chilly, bark scratching along his bare forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. His shoulders ached, pulled tight against the tree and the inside of his mouth had a metallic taste.

 

“Here, drink some water. It will help with the taste.”

 

Drops touched his lips, a plastic ring and water poured into his mouth. Clint swallowed without thinking, the cold liquid soothing his dry throat. As the man stepped back, Clint focused; Grant Ward, in dark jeans and a black turtleneck, towered above Clint.

 

“Grant? What the hell happened? Was I … Why am I tied to this tree?” Clint couldn’t decide which one to ask first so he let all the questions in his head out in a rush. “It was a tranquilizer dart. Someone tranqed me and brought me here. Matt’s call. It must be because of Matt’s call. I need to get back to the station as soon as possible.”

 

“I’m afraid that isn’t a wise course of action,” Grant replied, leaning against a tree on the other side of the small clearing. “You’ve been infected and I don’t know how much it’s affecting you.”

 

“Infected?” Clint’s mind was still fuzzy. “I’m fine.”

 

“When Banner clawed you, the hazmat suit ripped. That’s all it takes for the shadow to get in, one small tear.” Grant’s blue eyes pierced right through Clint. “Can you tell me you haven’t been feeling frustrated? Angry at little things? Have you started dreaming about it yet?”

 

That stopped Clint cold. “You seem to know an awful lot about this,” Clint said, the wheels turning now as he burned off the sedative. “What haven’t you told me, Grant?”

 

With a sigh, Grant slid down the tree and sat on the ground. “God, I don’t know where to begin. You have to believe me, I didn’t make the connection at first, not until Banner changed and I saw the thing in the cave.”

 

“You’ve seen it before.” A statement, not a question. Clint was sure that Grant knew more than he’d let on.

 

“Not seen, but I heard it before. It’s voice. In my head. Saw what it could do to a person, what it changed them into.” Grant took a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued. By the slant of light, Clint reckoned it was mid- to late afternoon; he’d been unconscious less than an hour or so. “I guess you know about the curse, right? Banner changed right in front of you and you didn’t blink.” He waited for Clint to nod in agreement. “Being a Ward is, well, it comes with a lot of expectations. Father always hated the way the Wilsons and Hills seemed to multiply; there are more Wilson shifters than the Bishops and Wards combined. Made because Ward men marry for power and usually outsiders. I don’t know why. Anyway, it never sat right with Father or Christian that it was Thomas who changed.”

 

“Your younger brother, the one who died.” Clint knew the basics of the story; Thomas Ward had been playing in a cave and fallen into a deep chasm.

 

“The best of all of us,” Grant said softly. “Thomas was a quiet soul; he took after Mother, loved art and music, wanted to study classical piano. Christian and I were the rough and tumble types; Thomas was happy on a rainy day, reading in the window seat.”

 

Clint gave Grant room, not pushing. Whatever had happened to Thomas Ward, it wasn’t what the official story told.

 

“There was this cave we played in; mostly just a small divot in the mountain, but the entrance was overhung with a big rock and you had to squeeze in. It was enough to imagine a pirate fort or a magician’s cave. When Father had one of his fundraising parties, we’d slip off and hide. We could make all the noise we wanted, get dirty, eat twinkies we snuck out of the pantry.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Clint said. He shifted his arms, trying to gauge how much slack there was in the ropes tying his hands together.

 

“It was. Until the fire burned the trees and then the rains came. The mud shifted and when we went back there was an opening that hadn’t been there before, an entrance into another set of caverns. That’s the first time I heard it, a whisper, inviting us to come inside, to find it. We argued over who would be the first; Christian won, of course, because he was the oldest.”  Grant hung his head between his knees and twisted his hands together. “I don’t know what happened after that; it’s all a fog. I remember Thomas changing, but … everything else is out of focus.”

 

Clint wasn’t sure what to say. A month ago he’d have doubted the story but the last week had taught him that weird was relative. So he stayed silent, giving Grant room to fill in the blanks.

 

“It’s evil. Pure and simple. And I can’t let you loose if it’s inside of you.” Grant looked at Clint, his decision plain on his face. “You’ve seen what it does to those it takes. They don’t just kill themselves, they take as many with them as they can. It drives them insane.”

 

“I don’t have it. It’s been days and I’m not affected,” Clint told him.

 

“Really? I hear you’ve been getting frustrated, lost your temper this morning with the forensic lab. Tell me you weren’t sitting in the park, working yourself up to go attack Bishop,” Grant said.

 

“Damn it, Grant.” Clint was rattled. “What are you going to do? Keep me here until you’re satisfied I’m just pissed off at the situation? Going to be awkward when I have to pee.”

 

“I’m working on that,” Grant admitted. “Look, let me question Bishop about whatever you learned in that phone call. And Christian. You mentioned politicians. I know they’re working together on that new housing development and there’s talk of a recreation area to rival Big Sky. Was Owlsley involved in one of those? Derek’s been flying possible investors out for the last nine months or so.”

 

He didn’t know if he could trust Grant; his gut was rolling with doubts and betrayal. If Christian was money laundering, would Grant be in on it? But maybe he could use the situation to his advantage. Clint needed answers.

 

“Owlsley’s father is an accountant for some very powerful figures in the New York underworld. They have a lot of money to spread around. My source said the deal involved some government contracts and grants.”

 

Grant dropped his head back against the tree and sighed. “Of course it does. If land’s not federal around here, it’s tribal. You need all sorts of permits and exemptions. Christian would be right in the middle of it.”

 

“We need to find out when Owlsley got here, who he saw, and when he supposedly left. Anything that can help us trace his steps.” Clint could see Grant processing the information.

 

“The radiation would put the deal in jeopardy,” Grant said. “Christian will be in a royally bad mood. That means he’ll head to Brock’s, reliving the good old days with a few whiskeys.”

 

“Brock’s? That doesn’t sound like Christian’s cup of tea.” Clint couldn’t picture the put together congressman at a dive bar. Not that Brock didn’t run a tight ship -- the last brawl that started was put to a quick end by Brock and his bouncer before the police could arrive -- but the Wards prided themselves on their elevated tastes.

 

“Christian ran with both Rumlows in high school; Stone was the same age, Brock two years younger. They were inseparable despite my father’s insistence that the Rumlows were a bad influence. In his official biography, Christian calls it his misspent youth; uses it as a part of his campaign speeches about turning the country around.” The dislike was heavy in Grant’s voice. “Ironic, what happened. Christian went off to college to become a politician and spends his time wining and dining big wigs. Stone enlisted and died in Afghanistan; he saved eight girls from a burning school building and went back in for the teacher.”

 

“I heard Brock was given a commendation for bravery.” Clint had heard the story from Bucky who occasionally liked to have a drink at Brock’s place.

 

“Dragged one of his platoon members out of a burning humvee.” Grant stood, moving with determination. “I’m going to talk to Christian, see what he knows.”

 

“Wait!” Clint said as Grant started to walk away. “You can’t leave me here.”

 

Grant checked his watch and then looked up at the sun. “I’ll be back by 4 o’clock, plenty of time before the sun goes down. Just hang tight and I’ll make other plans for you.”

 

“Grant!” Clint shouted at the retreating form. “God damn it, Ward, get your ass back here!”

 

Pulling on his arms, Clint had little to no give in the rope; all he managed to do was scratch his arms on the bark. Minutes passed and Grant didn’t return; Clint leaned his head back and gave a long, loud sigh. He took a series of deep breaths, calming the anger rolling through him. Then he folded his fingers over the rope, following the lines of the knots, picturing them in his head.

 

Brush rattled and waved; beady black eyes peered out, followed by a furry body; about three and a half feet long with a tail dragging behind, the animal’s fur shifted from reddish brown to black. Sharp teeth filled its mouth and silvery fur circled its eyes like a mask. Clint stilled and watched the wolverine approach. Only slightly smaller than a brown bear, it dropped its nose to the ground and sniffed its way up Clint’s leg. Big paws with five toes and sharp claws flattened on his thigh; a cold nose dug into his crotch and Clint couldn’t help but shift out of the way.

 

“Okay, no. I like my balls right where they are,” Clint said.

 

Front paws landed on Clint’s chest and the animal stared at him. For the first time, Clint could see that part of its face was scarred, its waxy hair growing in tufts around the raised lines of skin. 

 

“Oh my God. Wade?” Honestly, Clint thought, this was the weirdest day ever. “Of course it’s you. Why does that even surprise me.”

 

The wolverine dropped back to all fours and began to change. Nothing Clint had seen on television or in movies prepared him for the shift from animal to human. Fur melted, lengthened and turned to skin. Stubby legs grew longer, toes shrinking and claws becoming nails. Bones popped and creaked as they reshaped and elongated. The scars stayed, a map that spread across Wade’s chest and down his left leg as hair became skin, fading into pale white. Lots of skin. Nothing but skin.

 

Clint found himself staring at Wade’s flaccid penis as it stirred and started filling out. He quickly averted his eyes, but not soon enough to stop Wade from laughing and wiggling his hips.

 

“Oh, yes, you want the D.” Wade grinned and began to sing. “You see right through me and I can’t hide. I’m naked around you and it feels so right.”

 

“Jesus, Wade!” Clint focused on Wade’s feet. “Really?”

 

“Oh, come on. You knew it was me! That’s got to mean we’re soulmates or something, right?” Wade nudged Clint’s leg with his toes. “Now that you’ve seen the goods, you want to trade up from Coulson?”

 

The only way to handle this was to brazen it out so Clint tilted his head up and took a good long look. “Sorry, Wade, but I think I’ll stick with Phil,” Clint finally said. “Nothing personal; I just have a thing for wolves.”

 

“Yeah, you stink of him.” Wade shrugged and squatted down so he was eye level with Clint. “Man, I’m telling you, you’re missing some good loving. Once you go Wade, you’ll never forget you’ve been laid.”

 

“Any chance you might free me so I can get out of here?” Clint tried to get Wade on track. “I need to get back to town.”

 

“Nah, Weasel Boy is right. You’ve got the demon in you; you’re not going anywhere until it’s gone.” Wade leaned in and sniffed along Clint’s neck. “It hasn’t got its hooks in too deep, so there’s time yet.”

 

“Demon? You know about this thing?” Clint asked, incredulous.

 

“Old Tom calls it the Demon under the Mountain, but that’s not its name. It’s too old to have a name. Don’t know what it is, but I can hear it. That thing’s madder than a hatter on a good day and when people rile it up? Ponerse como una fiera.” Wade shook his head.

 

“You can hear it.” Clint suddenly understood Wade better -- talking to himself, acting strange, in and out of lucidity -- who’d believe any story he would tell? “When did you …”

 

“Hell, I’ve been hearing that son-of-a-bitch since I started jacking off in the woods when I was thirteen. Damn thing is attracted to sex and death. La petite mort.” Wade snorted. “Perpetually pissed off and hates everything. Gets riled up when idiots get all loud and broadcasting with their emotions -- it likes hot heads but will take anyone close enough -- but then someone had to go and set it free.”  Wilson popped up and began walking away. “Okay, I’ve got charcoal, bee pollen, and that other stuff, just got to get some beets at the market and some brewer’s yeast. Dave’ll have that; he makes a plum pilsner that’s way too sweet.”

 

“Wait. Wade. Wade!” Clint strained his arms and tried to get free. “WADE!”

 

Wade slowed and turned. “Yes, sweetcheeks?”

 

“You’re just going to leave?” Clint couldn’t believe it. Left behind twice.

 

“Oh, I’ll be back, honey bunny.” Wade winked. “Just gotta run into town to get the stuff to set the right mood.”

 

“Do me a favor. Tell Melinda that Grant’s gone after his brother and she needs to find them.” At least Clint could do that much.  “They’ll probably be at Brock’s.”

 

“Oh, great. Weasel Boy AND Dr. Jekyll. We’re going to have a hot time in the old town tonight. Throw the Cavalry in and I can’t wait to see what happens.” Ward laughed. “Don’t start without me, snuggums. I’ll be right back.”

 

Bumping the back of his head against the bark, Clint sighed as Wade disappeared among the trees. Anger flared up, but by now Clint was beginning to doubt if it was his own feelings or if he was being influenced. Frustration? He’d own that. Pissed off at Bishop’s high handed ways? Again, that was all him. But these spikes that skirted the borders of hatred?

 

Clint had dated a yoga instructor for awhile; the relationship didn’t last, but the relaxation techniques had. He began counting his breathing, dropping into a light meditation. As soon as a negative thought entered his mind, he let it drift back out without dwelling on it.

Details separated, rearranged and floated into new patterns. Falling into the calm headspace took longer than normal, too many distractions around him to ignore. But finally, Clint felt his muscles untense and the haze of stress float away.

 

The facts were facts; the rest, supposition. Radiation in the cave. Dennis and his father both exposed. Each attack about hurting others. The murder in the cave. The shadow creature attacking twice. Grant and Wade hearing a voice. Lee Owlsley buying property.

Bishop’s big plan for development. Christian Ward’s Washington connections.

 

Turning the facts over in his head, he connected the details in different ways, shuffling and dealing again like a deck of cards, creating a new order. What did the radiation have to do with shadow creature? Which came first, radiation or the shadow? If the shadow had been around as long as Grant and Wade said, why had the murder changed it? Before, the shadow was only a voice; now it had form. He pondered the problem, pushing away his growing frustration with deliberate mental discipline.

 

When the sound of footfalls drew his attention, the sun was sinking into the west, almost to the tip of the mountains in its daily path. Phil darted between the boles, breaking into a run when he saw Clint; he straddled Clint’s legs with his four paws and licked Clint’s face in greeting before he huffed and conveyed his annoyance as Wade followed him into the clearing. Thankfully, Wilson was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt over a t-shirt that had proclaimed ‘keep calm and eat chimichangas’.

 

“Hey, watch your language,” Wade told the wolf. “I’m going to help your boy even if he threw me over for you. Now get out of the way so he can drink this.”

 

Wade had a water bottle filled with a bright green concoction; he pressed the open mouth up to Clint’s lips. “Come on, little bear. Take your medicine.”

 

Turning his head, Clint protested. “What the hell is that?”

 

“An herbal remedy and an old Sioux protection spell mixed together. Don’t worry. I’ve taken it for years and I haven’t died yet. Plus, I added some green apple schnapps to help it go down better,” Wade explained. “Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!”

 

Phil yipped once and nudged Clint’s face.

 

“Okay, but if I get sick I’m blaming both of you.”  Clint took his first sip; it lingered on his tongue, a mix of grass and ash and alcohol with a very bitter aftertaste. “Oh, that’s gross.”

 

“Drink up unless you want to be evil’s butt buddy.” Wade tipped up the bottle and Clint had no option but to swallow the nasty stuff down. He managed to not choke then gladly took the water Wade offered to wash out his mouth.

 

“So how does this work? Is it some sort of radiation proof potion?” Clint seemed to remember there were homeopathic remedies for just about everything thanks to the guy at the health food store where Clint bought his fish oil tablets. Not that Clint believed him, but, hey, might be nice to have an easy solution.

 

“Nah.” Wade shook his head. “I don’t really know, but the first time, the trip’s fun. An express elevator to hell, goin’ down!”

 

Clint glared at Wade who was doing his very best Hudson impression from _Aliens_. Then he looked at Phil who whined and curled up on the ground beside Clint, hiding his face under Clint’s arm.

 

“You’ve got no filters when you’re a wolf, you know that?” He first asked Phil then turned to Wade. “Tell me there are no illegal substances in that thing.”

 

“There are no illegal substances in that thing,” Wade mimicked back. “Technically, if used for specific Native American ceremonies, peyote’s exempt.”

 

“Peyote? I just drank a psychotropic drug and that’s going to chase the shadow away? Good God, I am the biggest idiot for trusting you.” Clint banged his head on the tree. “At least untie me, my arms are killing me and I need to pee.”

 

With a yip of agreement, Phil was around the tree in seconds, chewing his way through the ropes.

 

“Well, my work here is done,” Wade announced, tucking the empty bottle back in his pouch. “Oh, if you see any little blue men, don’t sing the smurf song to them. They don’t like that.”

 

“WADE!” Clint shouted at the retreating form.

 

Wilson didn’t stop; instead, he started singing as he disappeared from view. “One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small. The ones that Coyote gives you don’t do anything at all. Go ask Alice when she’s ten feet tall.”

 

The rope parted; pins and needles shot up Clint’s arms as he began to move them to restore his circulation. With a moan, he pushed himself up and it was harder than he thought to get to his feet. He had to use the tree to balance, his legs gone numb. A few shaky steps were all he could manage before he propped his side on a tree and relieved himself with fumbling fingers. His head was starting to swim already, the fast acting drug rushing through his body.  

 

“Guess I’m not getting out of here yet,” he told Phil, returning to the place he’d been and using a different tree as a prop . “Isn’t this the stuff they use for vision quests?”

 

Phil yipped, butting his head into Clint’s knees. For the first time, Clint noticed another bag on the ground; Wade must have left supplies. Nosing into the open zipper, Phil nudged a bottle of water out onto the ground.

 

“Drink water. Yeah, good idea. Stay hydrated.” Clint made the mistake of bending over, thinking to just grab the plastic; the world spun and he was laying on the ground, looking up at the anxious of a wolf with a bottle in its mouth. “Right. Water.”  Clint raised himself up on his elbows, took the water and got it open. After a long couple of swallows, he got the cap back on and sat it nearby. “Jesus, Phil, this stuff is potent. I could swear I see a moose over there with a backpack looped around its antlers.”

 

Clint laid back down and stared up at the late afternoon sky. Slowly, the forest began to revolve around him; like one of those merry-go-rounds at parks, Clint’s head was at the center of the circle, his feet hanging off the end. Under his palm, warm fur lifted his hand up and Clint ran his fingers through it before he began to float upwards, the sky coming down to him.

 

_“Do you see it?” Melinda asked him._

 

_Balanced on top of the railing, Clint could see for miles across the mountains, the town spread out in an intricate pattern down in the valley._

 

_“See what?” Clint replied._

 

_He picked up his coffee mug from the counter, spinning his stool around to see Trip and Jemma sitting in one of Moe’s red vinyl booths._

 

_“The answer” Trip said._

 

_Lucky wiggled in his arms, trying to climb over his shoulder. Jane laughed and plucked him away, Thor leaning against the wall of the exam room in her clinic._

 

_“Do you hear it?” Thor asked._

 

_Burger grease dripped from Clint’s fingers; he chewed the bite and swallowed. Across the table, Pepper smiled at him._

 

_“Hear what?” Clint replied, a tint of frustration in his voice._

 

_Mack slid out from under the ‘62 Corvette and wiped his hands on the greasy rag hung around his waist. Over at the workspace, Leo Fitz tinkered with an engine._

 

_“The Mountain,” Mack said._

 

_Sand kicked up with the wind, blowing through the cracked window of the humvee. Bucky was in the passenger seat, fiddling with the GPS._

 

_“Did you feel that?” Bucky’s head came up and he started to turn._

 

_Clint tumbled backwards, metal shards of what used to be the door ripping hunks from his skin. The smell of burning flesh assailed him and he tried to scramble back to the burning car._

 

_“Bucky!” Clint shouted, unslinging his gun and returning the fire coming from an outcropping above. “Buck!”_

 

_The edge of the cliff gave way and Bucky’s arms flailed; eyes wide, he fell, no time to cry out before he was gone._

 

A warm body pressed against Clint’s chest; he lifted his head and saw the dimming sun framed between antlers. A tongue licked his hand and Phil whined.

 

_“You look like you could use a drink.”  Natasha slid a glass of ice and brown liquor across the bar. “These things can get pretty crazy.”_

 

_Clint picked up the glass and turned it around once then twice. “I’ve got no fucking clue what’s happening. Can’t anyone just tell me or do I have to deal with this mystic woo-woo stuff? People are going to keep dying.”_

 

_She smiled that way she had of showing both affection and amusement at the same time. “The mystic woo-woo stuff has worked for centuries. Why change now?”_

 

_“Because I’m as dense as a post and need a big fucking neon sign?” He sniffed before he took a small sip. Smooth scotch slid down his throat._

 

_“Maybe you’re not asking the right question,” she said with a shrug. “Go back to the beginning; you are trusting Wade and Grant after all. Now drink up. You’ll feel better soon.”_

 

Cool leather, soft hands cradling his head, the world jumped and shook, Clint’s skin vibrating and giving off heat.

 

_“Would you like to hear a story?” The old woman sat on a fallen log, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders, glasses perched on her nose. Beneath her white hair neatly caught up in a bun were familiar brown eyes. Trip’s grandmother. Clint had met Mary Wilson only once._

 

_The wind was icy cold, the fire barely staying lit. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward, closer to the flames, Clint replied. “Yes. Please. I need help.”_

 

_“Everything has a beginning,” she said. “What was once nothing but a small spark can grow to a roaring blaze over time. Flint to steel, bark to bark, fire starts with friction. Before the First Ones, there were the Time Keepers. Before the Time Keepers, there were the Travelers. And before the Travelers, there were the Watchers.”_

 

_“You believe this crap?” Derek Bishop stepped in front of Clint, blocking the heat from the fire. “I thought better of you, Barton. Those are just old wives tales. Nobody turns into animals, there’s no demon under the mountain. It’s just a way to blame the supernatural for human behavior.”_

 

_Clint slammed his office door and rounded on Bishop, too angry to care who heard him in the squad room. “Fuck you and your secrets, Derek. You’ve manipulated me at every turn and I’m sick and tired of it. What the hell are you up to with Lee Owlsley? Why was he here? Who murdered him?”_

 

_Lights flickered and the shadows edged closer; the corpse of Lee Owlsley tilted its head, black goo leaking down the sides of its face. Eyeless sockets stared at Clint as it lifted an arm, bits of fleshing dropping to the floor._

 

_“Why didn’t you save me?” It asked, voice deep and gravelly, jaw hanging loose._

 

_The creature sprung, sinking its teeth into Clint’s shoulder. A flash of pain, sharp and deep, then Clint was running through the tunnel, barreling out of the mouth and right into the path of the charging grizzly bear.  Bruce knocked him down and stood over him, roaring his anger and frustration._

 

_“Why aren’t you listening?” Bruce growled._

 

_The rain pattered on the asphalt, soaking the piles of garbage that spilled out of the dumpster along the alley wall. Lit by headlights, the body was spread across the narrow space, blood splattered into pools and dribbles. Bobbi Morse, his ex-partner and now Chief Detective, stood and looked down at the chaos that was once a person._

 

_“Why didn’t you stop this from happening?” she asked._

 

_Feet pounding on the dirt, Clint ran through the cornfield, the shadow on his heels. Claws caught his bare legs, red rivulets leaving a trail behind him. Teeth nipped his elbow, hot breath crossed his neck, and the rumbling growl vibrated into the pit of his stomach._

 

_“Why are you running?” the shadow said, blocking Clint’s way. “It’s too late to get away.”_

 

_Black swarmed up his legs, curled around his thighs and worked its way up his torso. Clint pushed at his skin, dropped to his knees and screamed as the shadow crawled down his throat._

 

“Shhhhh, shhhh, you’re safe. You’re here with me. Nothing’s getting past us.” Phil’s arms held Clint tight, his voice whispered into Clint’s ears. “I’m here.”

 

_The sun warmed the grass and Clint stretched indulgently, arms over his head and legs elongated. Phil’s tongue tickled along the trail of hair that ran down his abdomen. His cock stirred and jumped as Phil turned him over, pushing his knees underneath him and his head down into the pillow of soft green. Groaning as Phil filled him, Clint revelled in the teeth on his neck, the fur rubbing along his skin as Phil thrust, hard and fast, pumping into Clint. With a shout, Phil pressed his knot in and Clint blanked out, pleasure overwhelming his senses._

 

_“The little death. What humans will do for a fleeting moment of being whole.”_

 

_The snow was like a curtain, obscuring all but the fire and the man who sat across from Clint. Wrinkled face, brown and weathered, black hair shot with grey, long and held back by a simple bandana, he slumped over the heat and smiled at Clint._

 

_“You’re Coyote,” Clint said._

 

_“Well, at least as you think Coyote should look. Stereotype much?” the man asked with a laugh. “Could be worse. You gave me jeans and a regular shirt at least.”_

 

_“It’s too late.” Grant Ward said from where he sat on the log beside Clint. “It’s already in you. All that’s left is to admit it.”_

 

_“Don’t pay the ferryman. Don’t even fix a price until he gets you to the other side,” Wade sang from where he sat on Clint’s left. “Money changes everything.”_

 

_“He’s not worth the fight,” Derek Bishop offered, further away on Clint’s right. “Barton’s a mistake I plan on fixing.”_

 

_“Come on, Bish.” Christian Grant tried to ignore Wade, leaning out to address Derek across the fire. “Barton knows how the game is played; you’re the one losing it.”_

 

_“Tired of all of the bullshit yet?” Natasha stretched her feet out in front of her, warming her hands by rubbing them together. “There’s a simple solution. Ask the right question.”_

 

_“Why me?” Clint spoke into the sudden silence. “What do you want from me?”_

 

_Her skin was the color of the red clay that lined stream beds, his hair the color of wheat fields, and its eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. Both male and female and neither at the same time, he stood tall against the forest backdrop, her legs covered in leather pants and chest in a simple woven vest._

 

_“You remind me so much of her; it’s your eyes.” Its gaze was filled with ice and his voice a dose of winter. “Your will is just as strong, your heart as full.”_

 

_“The question is, what do you want most from the Mountain?” Coyote asked, interrupting the other’s dialogue. “And what price are you willing to pay?”_

 

_“I can give you anything your heart desires.” This was the shadow creature, Clint realized, given form. “Wealth. Power. Strength. Health. Talent. A long happy life with your principal. Even kids if you want.”_

 

_And this was the heart of the matter, the negotiation come at last. Not a fight or a takeover, but establishing cost and shaking hands on a deal._

 

_“And what do you want in return?” Clint asked, remembering Wade’s warning. “My soul?”_

 

_“What would I do with that?” Coyote answered first. “A gift is a gift; you must live with the consequences of your desires.”_

 

_“I ask for nothing,” the shadow said. “For you, Clinton Francis Barton, I am willing to part with my knowledge for free.”_

 

_“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” Ever the pessimist, Clint had learned that fact the hard way. “I know what happened to the others you infected.”_

 

_“They weren’t worthy. You will be the start of a new line. Simply tell me what you want.”_

 

_What did he want? Clint had told different people different answers for why he’d moved here, all of them holding an element of truth. To get away from the stress of being a big city detective and the constant case load. To get back to nature and remember what he loved about it. To have time for himself, to do things he enjoyed. To see if he could handle the job of Sheriff, if he was up to it. To forget the war and his past and start over again._

 

_“What do I want?” Clint mused aloud. If he boiled it down, what he wanted was simple. To work with great people who shared his passion for justice. To have his house filled with friends and laughter and good food. To wake up everyday with Phil in his life. To just be happy with what he had._

 

_“I’ll take whatever the mountain gives me.” Clint looked at Coyote as he said it; the old man’s face widened in a smile._

 

_“Ah, now that’s a good answer.” He turned towards the shadow. “Don’t you think, Sica?”_

 

_“You forget, I don’t play by your rules, World Walker. He’s mine no matter what he chooses.”_

 

_Black poured out of his skin, running across the ground and crawling up the trees, poisoning the ground as flowed Clint’s way._

 

_“This might be a good time to wake up,” Coyote said as he touched two fingers to Clint’s forehead. “We’ll talk price later.”_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way I could resist a naked Wade Wilson and Clint tied to a tree. That was so much fun to write. For the record, the line "I'm naked around you" comes from Katy Perry's "Birthday Suit." The Spanish translates roughly to "Turn into a beast" or "becomes a monster." "Candy is dandy" phrase is from a poem by Ogden Nash. The express elevator quote is one of my favorites from Aliens. Peyote is allowed for Native American rituals, and only Wade would sing the theme song from the Smurf TV show to little blue men. And finally, that song Wade sings as he leaves the second time is "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Starship. 
> 
> The story Mary starts to tell is my own creation as is all the rest of this. Don't worry; you'll get to hear the rest of it soon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen to my voice, Kate. You know me. You did the right thing out in the woods. You got yourself away from Mr. Johnston. You can do this. I promise.” Clint dropped his voice into the soothing tones he used when Bucky had an episode. “Focus on me and let the other pass in one ear and out the other. Like scrolling through Facebook, let it disappear off the screen.”
> 
> Kate snorted. “Facebook? God, you’re old. Bet you don’t even know what Tumblr is.”
> 
> Clint grinned; if Kate could still be sassy that was a good sign. “Fine. Tumblr then. I bet you post pictures of some hot young star. That Pattison kid from Twilight? Or the Werewolf dude?”
> 
> “Taylor Lautner and, ewwwww, no.” She worked her hand up slowly; their fingertips met then slipped away. “Chris Pine. He might be an arrogant idiot, but he’s got a great ass.”
> 
> “That the guy who played Kirk in the reboot?” This time Clint got a hold on her hand, and he strained to get to her wrist, slipping a little further over the edge. “He’s not bad. Personally, I like those guys in the Impala on Supernatural.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on, folks, this is the top of the hill and the roller coaster is about to plunge down. 
> 
> Good news! Chapter is 11 is edited and Chapter 12 is off to my beta. The story is complete! :)

Clint opened his eyes, coming awake with a start.  HIs throat was parched and dry, his head aching and his skin tingling. The ceiling was high overhead, a crack running from the decorative crown molding to the plaster medallion in the center. A bay window complete with chintz curtains showed the dark night outside; across from the bed was a bricked up fireplace with a wildlife print above it. Pushing up on his elbows, Clint disturbed the ball of fur sleeping on the end of the bed. Lucky yawned and stretched before he flopped back over, his head on Clint’s ankle.

 

“You’re back with us.” Phil stood up and put down his stack of papers, leaving them on the roll top desk by the fireplace. He picked up a bottle from the side table and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Here, you’ve got to be thirsty. Drink this; it’ll help with the headache and coming down.”

 

“It’s not Wade’s recipe, is it?” Clint eyed the offered drink skeptically. “That’s the last time I take anything he offers.”

 

“Old Hill family hangover cure. I’ve used it many times, so you’re safe.” Phil rubbed Lucky’s head as Clint took a tentative sip. Fruity flavor mixed with salty pretzel went down easy and Phil chuckled as Clint drank the rest of the smoothie. “Pineapple, banana, lemon, and pretzels hide the kale and the other herbs. Makes a great pick-me-up anytime, actually.”

 

“What time is it?” The reality of everything came crashing in on Clint. As much as he wanted to lay back down and burrow under the covers with Phil and Lucky, he had a job to do. “I need to find Grant.”

 

“May put Trip on him. Christian was on an emergency conference call to DC; he’s a member of the Ways and Means and there’s an important vote coming up. Grant cooled his heels by setting Skye on the paper trail.” Phil covered Clint’s hand with his. “May’s on top of it; there’s time to get your strength back.”

 

Clint sat up and the room spun but slowly came to a stop. “I need to talk about the dream before I forget it.”

 

“That wasn’t a dream. It was a vision quest.” Phil spoke softly, his eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you learned, what you saw … it’s not just a dream, Clint.”

 

Phil put a couple pillows behind Clint and propped him up; he looked down and saw soft cotton plaid sleep pants and a worn black t-shirt. “Radiohead?” he asked, looking at the design. “Really, Phil?”

 

“I didn’t make fun of your music choices. Jefferson Starship?” Phil grinned. “Let me grab my laptop and I’ll take notes. Don’t worry about censoring yourself; I saw some really strange things on my quest.”

 

“Yeah, well, did that include having sex with a wolf? Because that’s one fetish I didn’t even think was real.” Clint didn’t miss the way Phil stilled, his eyes glancing away then back. “Pretty much everybody was in there. Lots of questions and very few answers.”

 

“That’s par for the course. So start at the beginning.”

 

Clint tried to remember every detail, get all the words exact. At points, Phil stopped him and asked questions. He seemed especially interested in the various people who appeared. Melinda by herself, Jane and Thor at the clinic, Trip and Jemma in the diner, Pepper at Winghart's, Mack and Leo in the garage, Bucky in Afghanistan, and Natasha in her bar. All of them asked questions except for Natasha who gave Clint advice. Then there was the campfire in the snowstorm -- Clint didn’t need an explanation to know that was a reference to Coyote’s story -- with Mary Wilson and the game.

 

“I think I’ve heard a story like that. Something about Watchers is ringing a bell.” Phil paused in his note taking. “Mary’s coming back tomorrow; if it’s a real tale, she’ll know it.”

 

“It would have to be something I know, right? Because all of this came from my subconscious.” He knew that wasn’t true; too much had happened in his dream .. quest … to have all come from him. Maybe he was still holding on to his old ideals of normal despite what his own eyes had seen. “Coyote said I created the way he looked.”

 

“So why did you put Grant, Christian, Derek, Wade, and Natasha with you at the campfire? Something you noticed that you’re not aware of?” Phil didn’t challenge him, just moved on. “Coyote makes sense and you personified the shadow in a way that reflects the mountain. But why the others?”

 

Why indeed? What did they have in common?  “Grant and Wade both admitted to hearing the voice in their head. Grant hinted that Christian heard it too. And I guess I’m linking Derek and Christian because of their ties to the murder victim.”

 

“And Natasha?” Phil asked.

 

“No fucking clue,” Clint admitted. “Other than she was there to remind me to ask the right question.”

 

“And what was your answer?” Phil’s fingers paused and he waited for Clint’s reply. “To Coyote’s question?”

 

“I told him I’d take whatever the Mountain gave me.” Of everything that had happened in his dream, that part was the strangest. Clint wanted things but, in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t come up with any answer that didn’t sound trite or selfish. “Honestly, I just want to be happy with what I have, you know? Fame, fortune, power … they can all go to your head. Love should be given not taken; the same with friendship. I’ve got Lucky, a home, a job, good people around me … you, I hope … what else is there?”

 

Phil put down the tablet and turned to Clint, lips curving up in a slow smile. “God, but you surprise me every damn day,” he said. Then he leaned over and brushed a light kiss to Clint’s lips. “Yes, you have me. And that’s more than enough, isn’t it?”

 

“Phil, I …” Clint’s stomach gave a loud grumble, half complaint, half hunger, and he chuckled.

 

“Sounds like food is up next.” Phil stood and reached a hand out to help Clint get out of bed.“I washed your uniform if you want to get dressed first.”  

 

Grabbing the bedpost, Clint managed to stand up until his stomach contents stopped threatening to claw their way up his throat. The more he moved, the steadier he felt as Maria’s cure started working. He switched out Phil’s clothes for his uniform -- he really liked wearing Phil’s stuff -- and suited up for what was sure to be a long night, following Phil across the patterned rug to the top of the stairs. Cherry wood bannister, ornately carved spindles with a glossy shine, the stairs were covered with a beautiful red runner held in place with wrought iron rods. A flight of seven turned and above the landing was a stained glass window, some pieces cracked and others cloudy.

 

“A real Burne-Jones,” Phil told him. “Great-grandad got it from a bankrupt robber baron.”

 

“Quite a man, your ancestor,” Clint agreed.

.

“That he was. Eccentric in his old age; he had secret passageways built into the walls just because he liked the idea.” Phil flipped on the light in the kitchen. “What can I get you? I’ve got leftover pizza, leftover chinese, and some chicken salad if you want a sandwich.”

 

“What type of pizza?” Clint peered into the refrigerator over Phil’s shoulder.

 

“Everything but anchovies.” Phil popped the top of a plastic container and sniffed. “Only three days old.”

 

“What do you know about Thomas Ward’s death?” Clint asked as Phil put two pieces on a plate and put it in the microwave to heat. “Grant said that was the first time he heard the voice. From what he said, there’s more to the story.”

 

“Do you want facts or rumors? There are few facts to go on. An unexplored cave, three boys, and one who never came out. Searchers found Thomas’s glasses by the edge of a rocky crevasse.  Rumor, of course, fills in the blanks with assumptions; it’s an open secret that Andrew Ward was disappointed that Thomas was the one who changed. He’d made no bones about wanting Christian to have the honor and how disappointed he was in both of his other sons. Some think Andrew did it, hoping that the Mountain would pick a different child. Others put their money on Christian and still more say Grant. Still, Thomas was the type to wander off on his own to find a quiet place to read; he’d have loved investigating a new series of tunnels by himself.”  

 

Phil offered Clint a fork but he picked up the first piece by hand and took a bite, chewing as he let that information sink in. “Grant hinted he didn’t remember what happened; that the demon got in his head. Wade said something the same, but he had to make it about sex. I swear Wade’s got sex on the brain. And a wolverine? Really?”

 

“Don’t underestimate Wade. He’s got a vicious side to him when threatened.” Phil leaned back against the counter by the sink. “His animal fits.”

 

“Speaking of animals, was there a moose with a backpack in its antlers? I don’t know if it was part of the dream or real.” The food was settling his stomach and the bottle of water Phil had given him was washing the last of the bitter taste away.

 

“That’s Mack. We didn’t know how else to get you down the mountain. There was no car access,” Phil told him.

 

Mack a moose. Yeah, that made sense. Which just left … “And Trip? Grant said that there were a lot of Wilsons who shifted.”

 

“Trip’s a stag. Dicy around hunting season, but he can get places pretty fast when we need him.”

 

By the time the crash of shattering glass registered, the bottle was smashing onto the floor, spilling flaming liquid across the old checkered linoleum. Clint had Phil by the elbow, shoving him out into the dining room before he even realized it was a molotov cocktail that had been thrown at the house.

 

“Oh my God.” Phil stared at the fire as it spread rapidly, using the old tiles as fuel.

 

“Do you have an extinguisher?” Clint asked, pushing Phil towards the front entryway and door. “Phil?”

 

“In the kitchen. Under the sink.” Phil shook it off and glanced back. “And one in the hall closet.”

 

“Call the fire department first then get it. I’m going after whoever threw it.”

 

Clint saw Phil fumble his phone out of his pocket and head towards the closet. The window in the dining room opened easily and Clint removed the screen so he could climb out. Running around the flower bed, he saw two figures wrestling in the darkness. Blonde hair caught the light that flipped on in Miss DePriest’s kitchen. Clint barreled into the two, knocking both to the ground, rolling Teddy Altman under him and pressing down as the kid struggled to get free. Eyes flashed green and Teddy shook all over, his body vibrating with rage.  

 

“Teddy! It’s me, Billy. Stop. Please, God, stop it.” Face battered and bruised, Billy Kaplan got a hand on Teddy’s face and made the blonde look his way. “It’s Billy. Come back to me, Ted. Please.”

 

A loud whump sounded from the house; fire flared as the window in the back door blew out. Phil was in there somewhere, Clint thought, but Teddy reared back and smashed his head into Clint’s, knocking him off his knees. Surging up, Teddy tossed Clint onto his back and shoved Billy aside, struggling to get to the house.

 

“Have to … danger to everyone. Mr. Coulson’s … in there … and I don’t … I have to …” Teddy’s words were scattered and unfinished as he fought an internal battle against the demon’s will. But Billy was tenacious, hanging on like an octopus, slowing Teddy down.

 

Phil came around the corner of the house, fire extinguisher in his hand, and began spraying through the empty windows. At the sight of him, Teddy howled, a new strength flowing into him as he tossed Billy aside and charged towards Phil.

 

“Phil!” Clint shouted a warning; he was up and running but Teddy had a head start on him.

 

A body tackled Teddy from the side, taking him down hard and rolling them both into the corner of the yard. Dark hair flowed over Bucky’s face, his arm across Teddy’s throat, his body holding the teen on the ground.

 

“Stay down,” Bucky said. “Stay down for your own sake, kid.”

 

“Fire department’s on the way,” Steve said, an extinguisher in his hand and his feet bare. He was wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt, the same as Bucky. “Everyone okay? Anybody inside?”

 

Just then a bark sounded and Lucky appeared in the upstairs bedroom window. “Lucky,” Clint breathed. “God damn it all to hell.”

 

He was moving forward without a second thought, planning on circling the house and going up the front stairs when Phil called, “I’ve got him,” and dashed off around the corner.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed. “Tell me Phil doesn’t have a gas stove.”

 

He did. An old fashioned white one with black burners. “Shit, shit, shit,” Clint muttered as he stared at the house. “Just let him get out okay, that’s all I ask.”

 

Another whump as air was sucked in then exploded outward; the drapes in the dining room caught fire. A flutter of white nightgown caught Clint’s eye; Miss DePriest had her garden hose and was spraying into the side window, her hair in pink curlers. He heard the approaching sirens, tensing when Melinda silently stepped up beside him, Billy Kaplan in her grip, keeping him from running to Teddy.

 

“Phil’s inside?” She asked, her usual calm shaken.

 

“He went after Lucky.” Clint’s chest hurt, his muscles clenching hard across his heart. “The fire started in the kitchen so Phil should be okay. Right?”

 

“He’ll make it out,” Melinda said but her voice rose at the end of the sentence.

 

“I don’t understand.” Tears streaked Billy’s face. “One minute we were fine and then …”

 

A series of barks, one voice deep, the other higher pitched, rang out over the yard. Above the roof of the back porch, Wolf Phil and Lucky appeared at the window. The pattern of Phil’s barks was consistent; Clint recognized morse code for break and glass.

 

“Shit. They’re trapped upstairs.” Clint eyed the detached garage and the distance from its roof to the back porch one. A good fifteen to twenty feet separated the two; he’d never make it.

 

“Fuck it.” Steve yanked his shirt over his head and ran towards the garage. As he passed by where Bucky was sitting on Teddy, he said something too low for Clint to hear; Bucky’s head shot up and he stared as Steve kicked his sweats off before shimmying up the drainpipe in just his briefs. In three steps across the pitched tiles, Steve lost his underwear and changed; white fur gleamed as he jumped the distance with ease and ran at the window, shattering it with one blow from his curved horn.

 

In seconds, Phil came out, carrying Lucky by the scruff of his neck in his jaws, and jumped down onto the grass. Steve followed him down, snatching up his sweatpants with a horn tip before he disappeared into his own backyard.  Moments later, Steve reappeared with his pants on; Phil dropped Lucky at Clint’s feet and stayed in wolf form as the firefighters swarmed the back of the house, their big hoses pouring water onto the fire.

 

“What the fuck, Rogers?” Bucky demanded. Steve hung his head and glanced at Clint and Melinda for help; Mel just shrugged and Clint didn’t know what to say.

 

“I’m sorry, Buck. Honestly, I was going to tell you, but … yeah, it’s kind of a hard thing to share.” Steve hemmed and hawed, his voice shaky.

 

“What did you think I’d do, have a breakdown? Damn it, Steve, I knew about the others and I suspected that’s why you came back. I’m not mad that you’re one of them, but I’m pissed you didn’t tell me. That’s what I am to you? A fucked up mess you can’t trust?” Bucky shot back, his anger evident in his voice. Even Teddy stilled as Bucky ripped into Steve. “I’m not fragile, Rogers, nor am I useless or stupid. I could be helping you guys instead of being a liability.”

 

“I don’t think you’re useless. Hell, Bucky, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. I just couldn’t stand it if you got mad at me because of this … if you left me, I don’t know what I’d do.” Steve knelt next to Bucky. “I … you’ve got to know how I feel about you by now.”

 

Something softened in Bucky’s eyes; he brought his hand up and tentatively touched Steve’s face. “No. I don’t know how you feel. You’re a fucking closed book, Stevie. But I’d like to hear you tell me outloud so I won’t sound like a jerk when I get all mushy and doe-eyed over ya’.”

 

“Wait, you ..” Hope flared in Steve’s eyes.

 

“Of course, you idiot.” Bucky lightly punched Steve in the shoulder. “Hey, Hawk, what do you always tell me about Stevie?”

 

“That you’re both a matching set of morons,” Clint replied.

 

“See?” Bucky shifted and Teddy groaned. “But, seriously, Steve. A sheep?”

 

“You’ll all regret this! Gifts were given; it’s time to pay the price!” Teddy shouted, thrusting his chest up and flipping Bucky off of him. “Can’t you hear it? The darkness is angry; it’s coming for us all, for you, for me …”

 

“Oh, God, he’s shifting.” Melinda darted over, grabbing one of Teddy’s arms and flipping him over her back. Once he was on the ground, Clint sat on Teddy’s other arm, Billy took one leg, and Steve got the other one. “We need to get him to Wade’s; I don’t know what will happen if he’s infected for the first change.”

 

“Fight it, Teddy,” Billy said, bending over to look Teddy in the eyes. “Remember the plan? We’re going up together; no matter what happens, we’re doing this as a team.”

 

Lucky wormed his way between Clint’s legs and licked Teddy’s face. “Come on, kid,” Clint said. “Don’t do this. You’re strong; don’t let it win.”

 

For a moment, Teddy stilled, his bleary eyes finding his friend’s face. “Billy? I can’t stop it. I can see … can you hear it? The Mountain’s calling me.”

 

“It’s not time yet,” Melinda told him. “I know how much you want to follow it, but not until the shadow is gone. Wade can help you; just hang on.”

 

“Mom. I need to call Mom. She’ll be pissed …” Teddy cut off with a scream as his body bucked, a green glow flowing down his chest as his legs began to elongate, stretching as his arms began to twist and shrink.

 

The dart sank into the curve of Teddy’s neck; he cried out, thrashed against the people holding him down. Then he began to lose steam, slowly giving in to the sedative running through his veins. Clint snapped his head up and saw Grant, tranq gun lowering slowly; blood ran from a split in his lip, one eye was swollen, and a long shallow cut curved along his jaw.

 

“What happened?” Billy demanded, growing agitated when Teddy’s eyes closed.

 

“It’s a tranquilizer,” Melinda explained. “He’s fine.”

 

Billy sank down on the grass and started shivering, the adrenaline wearing off. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. I don’t know what’s going on.”

 

Circling the boy, Phil plopped down on the ground and put his head on Billy’s knee. Following suit, Lucky crawled into Billy’s lap. Around them, the fire fighters were cutting the flow of water, the fire contained and put out. Clint didn’t want to look at the damage just yet; the fact that Phil’s family home had been burning was a fresh wound.

 

“Tell us what happened.” Clint turned to finding answers; his hand absently ran along Phil’s fur. “How did Teddy end up throwing a molotov cocktail through the window?”

 

“I don’t know … he was all weird … like he didn’t know me … putting Kate in the trunk …” Billy babbled, word tumbling out, one after the other. “It’s wrong, all wrong. Teddy wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Kate? Kate Bishop?” Clint shared a glance with Melinda. “Slow down. Take a breath and start at the beginning.”

“We were online, playing minecraft, all of us except for Cassie ‘cause she’s grounded. Kate said she thought someone was in the house, so Teddy and I said we’d come over, only Teddy got there first because I had to walk. That’s when I saw him put Kate in the trunk of this big black car. I yelled at him; he ran and pushed me aside. I managed to get into the bed of the truck and held on until we got to Principal Coulson’s house. When I saw him light the rag and stick it in the bottle, I tried to stop him but he was so strong …”

 

“It’s okay, Billy. Wade will help him.” Steve put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

 

“What happened to Kate, Billy? Did you see anyone else in the car?” Clint asked gently.

 

“I don’t know. I was watching Teddy and when I looked back, the car was gone.” Billy jerked his head up, his eyes wild. “Damn it, someone took Kate and I can’t tell you a damn thing. Some kind of friend I am.”

 

“You did the right thing by following Teddy,” Clint told him. “You probably saved his life. We’ll find Kate. What I need now is any details you can tell me. What kind of car was it? Did you see a license plate?”

 

“It was a four door, black, a Lincoln or a Ford, an American car because it was big. One of those like they use to make limousines. We booked one for the prom. The windows were all blacked out and the license plate … I didn’t see any numbers, but it wasn’t a regular one. It was white with black letters and some sort of seal.”

 

Clint’s breath froze in his throat; he knew exactly what kind of plate that was. From the look on her face, so did Melinda. “That’s good, Billy. Now I want you to go with Steve Rogers; he’s going to take Teddy to Wade’s and it’s best for you to be with Teddy when he wakes. He’ll want to know you’re okay.”

 

“i should call my mom and dad. I just ran out of the house.” Billy sniffled to hide the tears that threatened to leak from the corner of his eyes.

 

“Don’t you worry, young man.” Miss DePriest had a hand on one hip and a flip phone in the other one. “I’ve got your mom on speed dial and she can contact Carol Altman. They’ll beat you to the hardware store. Hand me up that pup; he can come home with me. Going to be a busy night; my Judith can keep him company.”

 

“Thank you,” Clint said, relieved to have at least one thing off his plate as he passed Lucky over to the woman.

 

“And you, Phil Coulson, get your clothes out of the driveway and get dressed. You can use my kitchen to make the calls to your insurance company,” she continued. Phil ducked his head under his paws.

 

Steve and Bucky took charge of the boys, the three of them carrying an unconscious Teddy across the yard to Steve’s driveway and putting him into the SUV. Meanwhile, Phil picked up his clothes with his teeth before he disappeared behind the garage, and Clint approached Grant who had taken a seat on one of the benches in Phil’s backyard.

 

“Ward.” Clint didn’t hide his frustration with his deputy. “It’s long past 4 p.m.”

 

“You don’t look the worse for wear,” Ward shot back, He was cleaning his face with a bandana, dotting at the split on his lip. “Sorry, though. Things didn’t work out the way I expected.”

 

Clint’s raised eyebrow was easy to see in the lights of the fire trucks and other houses. Standing beside him, Melinda crossed her arms over her chest and waited silently.

 

“Skye found a pattern of purchases, all done through holding companies with expedited waivers from the government. We traced them through dummy corporations and even international banks before we got to one I recognized, Meridian Trading.” Ward shrugged half-heartedly. “Dad and Christian have done business with them before, working on trade restrictions on tea and other spices.”

 

The name was familiar, but Clint didn’t have time to pin the memory down. He had too much already on his plate including his worry about Phil. From the corner of his eye, he saw Phil standing, staring at the smoking walls in the back of his house. “You went to talk to Christian,” Clint stated. He’d already jumped ahead to where this story was going.

 

“Wade had come back, so I knew someone was going to get you. I waited until Christian went to Brock’s; I thought he’d answer my questions better if I went as his brother, not a cop,” Grant said. “I was wrong.”

 

“We got a call on a disturbance at Brock’s,” Melinda injected. “Seven men, including Brock himself, are in holding. But Christian’s in the wind; he was gone when Alan and Trip got there.”

 

“I followed him to Bishop’s; I think he was going to talk to Derek.” Grant shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the two of them are in this together.”

 

“You saw what happened to Kate?” Clint focused in on Ward’s face, watching his every twitch. He still didn’t know if he could trust Grant completely, not after this afternoon.

 

“No. I was at the front of the house; by the time I heard Billy yelling, the car with Kate was gone. I saw Teddy and went to the station to get the tranq gun; when the fire call came in, wasn’t hard to figure who started it.”

 

“You think Christian took her to get Derek’s attention?” Melinda asked Clint. “The deal is falling apart with the radiation scare and the murder.”

 

“So he puts Kate in the trunk of his clearly marked government car after somehow getting Teddy to carry her out there?” Clint was skeptical; Christian hadn’t struck him as that impulsive of a man.

 

“Makes sense if he’s infected.” Phil put a hand on Clint’s back. “Somehow it got to Teddy in between the time he left his house and when Billy arrived. This is the second time it’s gone after Kate.”

 

“Damn.” In the tumult of events, Clint had forgotten what Johnston had said about Kate. “Alright, let’s get an APB out on Christian’s car and call everyone in. Top priority is finding the girl and the politician, but bring Derek in too. Grant, get cleaned up and let someone look at your cut to see if you need stitches. Melinda, send someone to sit on Billy and Teddy; hell, anyone who was online when it went down, we’ll need a statement from. I want to see inside the Bishop's house, so get it roped off and get the forensic people on it.”

 

Melinda moved with purpose, herding a reluctant and protesting Grant out of the yard. Only when they were gone did Clint get a good look at the damage done to Phil’s house. The back wall had black spots, soot licking up towards the second floor from the windows of the kitchen and the dining room. Smoke was still coming out of every crack and opening as the fire department smothered the last remaining sparks.

 

“Oh God, Phil, I’m so sorry.” Clint wasn’t sure what to say. “Your family home.”

 

“Well, it did need a lot of renovation.” Phil tried to smile but his lips refused to cooperate. “Maybe with the insurance money, I can get some of it done. The truly valuable items are covered with replacement costs. And, thanks to you, my laptop was upstairs in the bedroom rather than in the kitchen where I usually leave it. So no lost data there.”

 

“Phil.” Clint pulled Phil in tight to his side. “I’m pretty handy with a sledgehammer. And I know a guy who just refinished his aunt’s house. We can help out.”

 

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Phil repeated to himself. “The fire didn’t spread upstairs; it was the smoke that kept us from getting out that way. They have ways to clean up smoke damage now. Kitchen needed gutting anyhow.” He took a deep breath and looked at Clint. “Go on. You need to find Kate and stop this demon thing. I’m going to make some phone calls and see if I can get my insurance agent to come out tonight.”

 

“You’re staying at my place.” Clint didn’t let Phil have time to object. “You still have the key and the code, right?”

 

Phil’s shoulders slumped and he managed a half-smile. “Thanks. I didn’t want to presume, but that helps. I’ll take care of Lucky too, take him with me when I head that way.”

 

“Anything you need, Phil. Whatever I have is yours.”

* * *

 

“Here.” Melinda handed him two ibuprofen and a bottle of water. “You must have a whale of a headache by now.”

 

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, spilling rays of light into the valley. From the access road out by Thor’s, Clint had a good view of the first shafts that touched the side of the mountains. Thirsty, he took the pills and drank half the bottle in one go.

 

“Thanks.” HIs head was pounding, an aftereffect of Wade’s little cocktail and a long night full of hurry up and do nothing. The Bishop house had been a bust, cluewise. The front door was unlocked, alarm turned off from the inside and Kate’s room showed no signs of a struggle, her computer scene with Minecraft paused as if she expected to come back to it. The only evidence was on the front porch where a flower pot was knocked over and dirt smeared on the front stairs. Christian hadn’t gone to the cave nor had he gone home; no one seemed to know anything about where he could be. Clint had lost a good hour trying to get through to Grant’s parents the severity of the situation, but they acted like this was beneath their notice. With Teddy still on his dream quest -- Wade had taken the two boys and their families up in the mountains, Steve and Bucky riding along -- there were no eyewitnesses to what had happened. Then they’d gotten a call about a car sitting on the road.

 

Trip walked away from the abandoned car and towards them. “You’re going to want to see this, Boss. One smart cookie that Bishop girl. She left us a message.”

 

In the trunk, along one of the metal struts that supported the cover, a series of scratches ran along the curve. CAVE, the first one spelled out clearly. Then BRO SECR PAS. Clint ran his fingers along the letters and grinned at the tiny bow and arrow at the end.

 

“Kate’s on the school archery team,” Melinda explained. “Probably win states this year and have a shot at nationals.”

 

“Well, we know she’s not at the Johnston’s cave,” Trip said. “But there’s a lot of other options.”

 

“Brother, secret, passage.” Clint remembered Grant’s story about the day Thomas died. “Andrew Ward said they walled up the cave the boys used to play in. But what if there were another way into it? Did they ever map the area where Thomas fell?”

 

“I think so. They had rescue crews searching for him; they’d have measured off the caverns,” Trip offered.

 

“Joe worked the case as a beat officer.” Melinda took out her phone. “He should know if any maps exist.” She stepped away to make the call.

 

“I wonder …” Clint pulled out his phone and dialed the office. “Skye? Can you pull up a map of the area and mark the location of the Johnston’s cave. Add in the cave out by the Ward’s house, the one where Thomas died.”

 

“I don’t know where that one is,” Skye replied, the sound of computer keys clacking. A muffled voice said something. “Oh, Grant gave me the coordinates. Anything else?”

 

“Triangulate on my location; send me the results.” Clint waited until his phone chimed; opening the attachment, he looked over the map. “Trip, get the big map from the jeep.”

 

They laid it out over the hood and Clint marked the three locations and connected them with lines. “Damn,” Trip said. “Would you look at that.”

 

From where Christian’s car was parked, the interior of the triangle covered maybe five miles of forested land.

 

“We start from three sides and work in. We need some tracking dogs. Call Thor and get Nick Fury on the line. We’re going to run Christian to ground,” Clint said.

* * *

 

“Hold, Geri!” Thor pulled at the leash on the wolfhound. “This cleft of rock. See the footprints?”

 

They’d systematically narrowed down the area, footfall by footfall. Operating on the premise that there had to be another access to the caves. Thor’s search and rescue dogs had taken one whiff of Kate’s favorite hoodie and led them to what looked like a jagged opening in a cleft of rocks.

 

“Okay, tranq first; use your guns as a last resort. We need information, but Kate Bishop is our primary goal.” Clint flipped on his light. “Melinda, Trip, follow Thor in. I’ll bring up the rear.”

 

“I’m going with you,” Grant argued. “Clint. I need to face this. I want to remember.”

 

His brain said no, but Clint’s gut was telling him that whatever happened to Thomas Ward was important. Glancing at Melinda, he saw her nod. “Okay, but stay behind May. And let me do the talking.”

 

The group wound down a sharp incline, the tunnel barely wide enough to squeeze through. Thor had to turn sideways twice before they entered a wider cavern. Light shown in the far end, casting shadows that crawled along the walls. Electric lanterns were arranged in a circle; in the center, Derek Bishop was tied to a large stone, his shirt unbuttoned, legs folded under him. Three long slices ran diagonally along his right chest, red rivulets running down and soaking into his pants.

 

Clint raised his hand; everyone stopped in the tunnel entrance, watching as Christian Ward crossed in front of Derek, a serrated boning knife in his hand. Searching the rest of the cavern, Clint saw Kate, her eyes closed and crumpled like a ragdoll near the open mouth of a crevasse that bisected the floor.

 

“This is crazy, Chris,” Derek said, his voice laced with pain and anger. “You’ve gone bonkers just like that Johnston family. Let me get you some help; we’ll call a doctor …”

 

“Banner? He’s on lockdown to keep from killing everything in sight.” Christian had taken off his jacket; it hung neatly over another rock along with his tie. “If you’d just kept yourself in check, you wouldn’t be in this situation. But you had to get scared and express your doubts to the wrong people.”

 

“It’s falling apart!” Derek shouted. “Everyone’s pulling out because of the radiation. I’m trying to save the deal, damn it.”

 

“I don’t care about the deal.” Christian casually pressed the point of the knife into Derek’s skin. “In a way, I’m happy the last one is you. You’ve been a pain in my ass for years.”

 

Derek cried out as the knife sank in and started to part the skin. With a nod to Melinda, Clint raised his gun and stepped out into the cavern.

 

“Drop the knife and step away,” Clint ordered.

 

“Ah, Sheriff Barton. So nice of you to join us.” Christian calmly moved behind Derek, the knife traveling up to the man’s throat. “I expected you earlier. I thought my invitation was obvious. And I see you’ve brought some friends. Even better; saves me work in the long run.”

 

“Christian. What are you doing?” Grant asked from behind Clint. “You’re risking your whole career over this resort area?”

 

“It’s much more than that.” Clint was watching Christian, the beads of sweat on his forehead and the tight tendons in his neck. “I bet if we had forensics test that knife, we’d find it was the same one used to kill Lee Owsley.”

 

Inclining his head in a brief nod, Christian smiled. “I wasn’t lying when I said you could handle this case. Derek sees through his own biases; I know you’re a good detective.”

 

“Jesus, Christian! You’re insane!” Derek struggled, trying to get free. “You killed the Owl’s kid? Do you have a death wish?”

 

“Shut up, Derek.” The knife pressed in until a drop of blood appeared. “Or I’ll let him have you and Kate now.”

 

“Him? Barton?” Derek asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

 

The shadow coalesced behind Christian; Thor’s dog started barking, clearly agitated by the chill in the air. Vaguely human shape, it reached out a tendril and brushed along Derek’s shoulder.

 

Remembering what Natasha told him in the dream vision, Clint asked, “Have you been under its influence since Thomas’ death? Or did it get you recently?”

 

“Oh, the Shadow and I are old friends, but it was Grant who pushed Thomas in. Stood right over there and listened as his brother cried out for help, clinging on to the side until his fingers gave way. Don’t let him fool you; he’s been involved all along. Isn’t that right, Grant?” Christian gave his brother a smug look. “He claims he can’t remember; problem is, he’s lied so much he’s starting to forget what he’s told who.”

 

“That’s not true!” Grant objected. “You wouldn’t let me help him. He shouted my name but you told me you’d tell Dad I did it.”

 

“Want to know what I think?” Clint interrupted the two brothers. “I think Thomas was the first victim and you discovered you enjoyed killing. That voice in your head found someone who was more than willing to do what it wanted. And I suspect if we start digging we’ll find other caves with dead bodies tied to stones, probably visitors or passer-thrus, the kind of person less likely to be missed. What I haven’t figured out is if you’re under its control or working with it of your own free will.”

 

“I can see why he wants you so badly.You’re smart enough to keep alive, but you missed one option. He’s working for me.” Christian sounded calm, as if he was discussing a boring funding line of a bureaucratic agency. “Which is why Derek, on the other hand, isn’t worth my time.”

 

He started to draw the knife across Derek’s throat and the cavern exploded into motion. Two retorts echoed off the walls as tranq guns fired. The shadow split apart, darting towards all of them, changing into smaller animals and insects that curled around their feet and up their legs. Christian reeled back, brushing the dart from his torso. Crossing the distance, Clint make a grab for the knife, fingers closing around Christian’s wrist and twisting. Wrestling, the two of them spun around, and Clint’s back connected with the stone as Christian pushed him back.

 

“Take me in. Won’t matter. The blood is already spilled.  The killing is just icing on the cake,” Christian told him.

 

“Fuck you, Ward. And the shadow you rode in on.” Clint caught Christian’s ankle and used the stability of the rock to pivot away, knocking Christian off balance.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Christian cursed. “I just might kill you anyway. But not before you get to watch what happens next.”

 

Clint danced out of Christian’s way, avoiding the blows easily now that he had his balance. “Blah, blah, blah. Such a politician; filibustering until the bitter end.”

 

“You’re right.” Christian stepped back and his eyes glowed green.”Hoka Hay.”

 

The walls flared to life, twining green ribbons intersecting and parting. Clint saw Melinda stumble, a shadow snake tightening around her neck; Thor struggled, picking off large beetles that were crawling up his chest, his dog nipping at others on the floor. Grant cried out as spiders climbed his legs; he jerked and bucked, trying to get them off him. Trip had changed, his clothes on the floor, and he was using his antlers to keep a group of badgers away.

 

Taking a solid stance, Clint pointed the gun at Christian. “Make it stop or I’ll kill you right now.”

 

“You need me alive or you’ll never find the other bodies. Besides, aren’t you forgetting someone?” Christian said with a smug smile.

 

“Daddy?” A tremulous voice called. Clint risked a quick glance and saw Kate Bishop sitting up, confused and unsure of what to do. “What’s happening?”

 

The shadow loomed behind her, the size of a small bear, creeping close enough to touch.

 

“Aw, hell,” Without hesitation, Clint dropped the muzzle of his gun, shot Christian in the knee twice, then moved towards the girl. “Kate, get up. We’re going to get you out of here.”

 

“Dad?” she asked again, climbing to her feet and swaying unsteadily. “Are you okay?”

 

“Kate,” her father slurred the word, voice colored by pain. “Go with the Sheriff. Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

Blue eyes centered on Clint and she took a couple of halting steps, getting her bearings.

 

The shadow paused, and the other bits of darkness rushed back together, growing to a full height taller than any human, head brushing the curve of the cave’s ceiling, It spread out its wings and reached for Kate.

 

“Kate, move!” Clint ordered.

 

She turned her head and screamed, reeling the wrong direction, her heel slipping off the edge of the floor, knocking her out of balance. Arms spun as she teetered, her hair flying loose from its holder as she fought to stay upright.

 

Launching himself at her, Clint had no choice but to dive through the shadow to catch Kate. Cold like the whipping wind of a blizzard assailed him, rage white hot shards of ice. Then he was through in time to see Kate tumble backwards out over the blackness. Arms and legs askew, she twisted as she went, trying to grab onto the rocky edge.

 

Clint’s hand closed around her wrist, and he hit the floor hard, breath driven out of his lungs by the impact. But he didn’t let go, her weight yanking his arm and stretching his shoulder. She stared up at him as her feet swung in open air.

 

“Give me your other hand,” Clint said, extending his other arm towards her. “Then I’ll pull you up.”

 

“I can hear it. In my head.” Tears dropped from the corners of her eyes. “So angry. So much hate. What it wants me to do. I won’t hurt my friends.”

 

“I know you won’t because you’re strong. You can beat this. Teddy fought it and you can too,” Clint told her.

 

“Teddy? He’s okay?” She swung her hand up, but missed Clint’s outstretched one. For a second she swung precariously then she got a hold on the side and steadied herself. “I don’t know if I can. It’s so loud. I can barely hear anything else.”

 

“Listen to my voice, Kate. You know me. You did the right thing out in the woods. You got yourself away from Mr. Johnston. You can do this. I promise.” Clint dropped his voice into the soothing tones he used when Bucky had an episode. “Focus on me and let the other pass in one ear and out the other. Like scrolling through Facebook, let it disappear off the screen.”

 

Kate snorted. “Facebook? God, you’re old. Bet you don’t even know what Tumblr is.”

 

Clint grinned; if Kate could still be sassy that was a good sign. “Fine. Tumblr then. I bet you post pictures of some hot young star. That Pattison kid from Twilight? Or the Werewolf dude?”

 

“Taylor Lautner and, ewwwww, no.” She worked her hand up slowly; their fingertips met then slipped away. “Chris Pine. He might be an arrogant idiot, but he’s got a great ass.”

 

“That the guy who played Kirk in the reboot?” This time Clint got a hold on her hand, and he strained to get to her wrist, slipping a little further over the edge. “He’s not bad. Personally, I like those guys in the Impala on Supernatural.”

 

“Oh.” Kate blinked and looked up at him. “It’s gone. The voice is gone.”

 

“That’s good.” Clint couldn’t risk taking his attention away to see what was happening behind him. “Now I’m going to back up and you work your way up the side, okay?”

 

He wiggled, using his toes for purchase, and slid back an inch. Despite the coolness of the cavern, he was sweating, hands slick on Kate’s skin. The motion made him lose his grip on the one hand and he cursed under his breath.

 

“It’s okay,” Kate said, her voice suddenly calm. “I understand now. It’s my choice.” She smiled up at him. “What I want most. I get to choose.”

 

She lightened her hand on their one remaining hold.

 

“Kate. Don’t. Look, you can choose once you’re safe.” Clint tried to hang on, but she began to transform beneath his fingertips, skin changing to soft feathers and falling out of his grip. Rolling onto his back, Clint watched as a red-tailed hawk flew out of the opening, a purple tank top draped across its body, brownish rust wings extending through the arm holes. With unerring accuracy, she flew right at Christian Ward, raking talons across his face that left bloody trails in their wake. He fell back and Melinda, in her mountain lion form, landed on his chest, driving the tranquilizer dart she held between her teeth into his neck.

 

“Come to Montana, Steve said. Nothing ever happens here,” Clint grumbled as he pushed his aching body off the floor. Trip pawed the ground and shook his head; Melinda rumbled in her chest. Kneeling beside Derek, Thor had untied the man and was working on stopping the bleeding. Grant offered Clint a hand; a look of understanding passed between them. “Okay, people .. and animals. Where did the shadow go?”

 

“It dissolved after you went through it,” Grant told him. “Just went poof.”

 

“Poof? Is that a technical term?” Clint joked.

 

“Dissipated? Blow up? Defuse?” Grant grinned at Clint. “But poof about sums it up.”

 

“Kate?” Derek spoke to the bird as it landed gently on his leg. “Is that you, baby?”

 

Kate nodded her head up and down.

 

“You’re gorgeous.” Pride lit up Derek’s eyes despite his wounds. “I’m so proud of you. The first Bishop in three generations to change. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to ground you for an extra week for being online when you weren’t supposed to.”

 

Kate squawked at her father and flapped her wings.

 

“Don’t sass me, girl. Seven days. Then we’ll have a big party to celebrate.”

 

“Alright, let’s get this scene under control. And, for God’s sake, be sure and put your clothes on before you leave. Last thing we need is a rumor of a Satanic orgy in the woods,” Clint said.

 

A mixture of growls and chirps and chuckles was his reply.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Bucky knew what was up in town. He's good, damn it. 
> 
> I hope Kate's experience makes clear that they have a choice to follow their personalities rather than the family curse. Bruce fights the animal and Kate picks justice and friends. 
> 
> I'm going to be adding an extra chapter at the end that has everyone's name, the families, what they shift into, and who they are in the Marvel universe. Just for reference. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can say no.” Clint stepped into the clearing, planting his feet and taking the gun out of his pocket. “You’re just another green eyed monster wanting what you can’t have. Haven’t you heard? It’s better to take what the Mountain gives you than make demands.”
> 
> “There will be no fight; you cannot hope to defeat me alone.” Green lightning spiraled around its arms and down to its fingers, collecting into shimmering balls of energy. Clint took a deep breath, tensed his muscles and got ready to react. Beside him, Phil crouched down on all fours, his tail bushed out and straight up, wagging in warning, as he bared his teeth and growled.
> 
> “Good thing he’s not alone,” Bucky said, stepping up beside Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, you didn't really think the shadow was just going to go "poof" did you? *winks* 
> 
> Some answers, a bit of porn, a showdown, and two gifts. And the reality of it all hits home for Clint.
> 
> If you feel like it, I'd appreciate any fic recs you'd like to make. Honestly, I think this is one of the best things I've ever written (my Bonds of Old series is second, followed closely by my C/C Christmas Bang "Worth Dying For"). I'm thinking about writing an original novel set in this world I've created.

“Sheriff!”

 

“Sheriff Barton!”

 

“Sheriff!”

 

Clint shut the door on the shouts of the reporters, enjoying the relative quiet of the squad room. He was beyond tired, the long day and night catching up with him. A smoky smell still clung despite a quick shower and a change of clothes. What he wanted was to crawl in bed for a few hours, and he knew his exhaustion was affecting him. Thinking clearly was difficult, and he was moving very slow. That’s why he had Melinda give the first press briefing; he wasn’t sure he could handle the questions. Not that she was happy about it, but her succinct factual answers did the job.

 

“Wow, that’s like watching a piranha feeding frenzy,” Darcy said, prying the blinds apart to see outside. “The piranha, denied of their prey, turn on one another and the weakest become dinner.”

 

“Okay, everybody, gather around.” Clint took his place at the back of the room, near the assignment board. “First and foremost, it’s vitally important we keep the details under wraps on this case until things are confirmed. We need to have all our ducks in a row before we go public.”

 

“Loose lips, sink ships,” Darcy added.

 

Skye grinned. “Because somebody talked,” she said. “The bad guy walked.”

 

Clint quelled them with a glance. “As it stands right now, Christian Ward is still unconscious, Derek Bishop is in a private room, and we’ve got guards on both. The forensic team has the primary site under control and say it will take until late tonight before they’re through. Darcy is contacting the other offices so they can start looking for bodies, and Skye, keep working on that paper trail. Trip, search missing persons and see if we can get a working list; it’s going to be big, but narrow in on visitors to the area who didn’t make it home. Alan, get started on expanding the radiation testing; work with Dr. Samson to cover the other sites.”

 

Each person nodded in turn as Clint gave them a job.

 

“Melinda, you’re in charge. My days of going 48 hours without sleep are over. If anything breaks, call and wake me.” Clint saw the edges of Melinda’s mouth turn up at his admission.

 

“You’re learning,” she said.

 

“Okay, that’s it. I”m going to try and sneak out of here without getting caught by that Parker kid. He’s probably hanging off the edge of the roof with his camera.” Clint got some laughs at that and everyone headed back to their desks.

 

“Clint.” Grant caught him in the back hallway. “Are we going to be all right?”

 

“Honestly, Grant, I understand what it’s like to face down your brother. Let’s both get some rest and see where we stand when I’m not sleep deprived.” Clint clapped Grant on the shoulder. “Go home.”

 

“Can’t. There will be messages on the machine and probably a car sent by my parents. I’m not ready for that.” Grant shook his head. “I’ll crash on the couch in the break room.”

 

“That won’t work.” Skye popped up beside Clint. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but hear. You can use mine and Darcy’s place. Take the key; I think I made the bed this morning.” The brunette handed over a silver key with a Dalek on the ring. “You know where it is.”

 

“Skye, I can’t …” Grant started to protest.

 

“Oh, shut up, Ward.” Skye cut him off. “Don’t be an ass. Take it and say thank you.”

 

“Um, thank you?” Grant glanced at Clint; no way was Clint getting in the middle of this.

 

“Good. Now, both of you get out of here. Trip’s going to run interference for you.”

* * *

Lucky greeted Clint at the garage door, jumping and barking in joy. Petting him as much as pushing him away, Clint got into the house, intent on flopping on his bed as soon as possible.

 

“Hey.” Phil stood up from where he had papers spread out on the couch and coffee table. “You hungry? I brought sandwiches from the deli.”

 

He thought about it; his last meal had been a granola bar from the vending machine before sunrise. If he ate, he’d sleep better, but he was so tired he might fall asleep mid-bite.

 

“Here. I’ll get it for you. You look like you’re about to crash.” Phil opened the fridge and took out a parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper. Inside was a reuben piled high with corned beef and sauerkraut. Taking out a knife, Phil cut each half in half again, pushing four sections in front of Clint. “Eat what you want and save the rest.”

 

Taking out his gun and badge took an extra effort as did picking up the closest end of the sandwich. The first bite was delicious; Clint chewed slowly, savoring the taste and conserving energy.

 

“Did you hear from the insurance company?” he asked after he washed down the second bite with the can of soda Phil gave him.

 

“Jasper came out last night and did a cursory report. They can’t get inside until the fire department okays it, probably Monday or Tuesday, but it looks like the fire was contained on the ground floor in the back. I called Logan, and he met me this morning; he boarded up the windows and checked the locks.” Phil settled into one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Have you met Logan? He’s the best restoration expert in the area; comes out of Hamilton, and I’ve used him for other work on the house. Good guy, if a little rough around the edges. Fills his crew with down and out kids, gives them a second chance. If they buckle down and work, he finds them other jobs when they’re ready.”

 

“I’ve heard his name around the office.” Clint remembered Trip talking about volunteering on the weekends with Habitat for Humanity. “Haven’t met him yet.”

 

“Oh, I think you’ll get along,” Phil said. “Anyway, then I ran by the school and got my insurance and other documents to get the process started. Learned awhile back to keep copies outside the house. This isn’t the first time the house has burned.”

 

“Really?” Clint had finished the first section and was working on a second, his stomach in charge now that it knew food was at hand.

 

“The Bishop fire of 1897. About a third of town was destroyed by a fire that started in the livery stable. The whole north side of the house was blackened and had to be replaced. Lost the outbuildings, but my great grandfather refused to leave; he made all the kids form a bucket line from the well to the house.” Phil sipped his own diet soda. “The second time I was home from college between my junior and senior year; I had stayed out late with friends,came in through the back door, and saw a glow coming from the basement. Mom had left a load of laundry in the dryer and gone to bed. The lint trap caught fire. The whole place would have gone up while everyone slept if I hadn’t caught it.”

 

“And you’ve never left a load in the dryer since then, I bet.” Clint eyed a third section then decided against it, folding the rest up for later. “Seen a few fires like that -- space heaters, dryers, coffee pots. Just takes a spark and old wiring.”

 

“Thus why I need to get the old knob and tube replaced.,” Phil said. He fell silent as Clint put the sandwich in the fridge. “I saw the press conference; anything you can tell me?”

 

“Depends. What are the rumors around town?” Clint picked up his can and took a long drink of the carbonated soda.

 

“Well, Caroline Kephart drove past while you were loading people in ambulances and saw Derek Bishop on a stretcher. Sissy down at the Seven Eleven across from the hospital swears Christian Ward was carried in screaming like a loon. My personal favorite is that the Altman and Kaplan boys kidnapped Kate Bishop and demanded a ransom; the fact that their families are AWOL supports the theory they are skipping town with the money.”

 

Clint chuckled. “Good God, people are creative, I’ll give them that.” He leaned against the bar, resting his elbows on the counter. “I haven’t  heard anything from Wade; they’re all still up the mountain. But I can say that Kate’s fine and Derek will be. She changed, Phil, right before my eyes. Said she understood and had made her choice. It was … amazing.”

 

“Kate? Was she infected? What form did she take?” Phil asked.

 

“She was clean. One minute she was a teenage girl and then she was the most beautiful red-tailed hawk.”  Clint remembered the peace in Kate’s eyes just before she shifted, a kind of acceptance he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

 

“It’s like that sometimes. When the person sees it as a gift. I’m so glad she took after her Hill heritage. She’s a good kid and deserves something nice in her life,” Phil replied.  “Teddy will be okay as well. His mom’s done an admirable job bringing him up by herself.”

 

The memory of the events in the cave unfurled in front of Clint’s eyes; emotions tumbled over him -- fear, anxiety, worry, panic -- an adrenaline fueled replay that left him unsettled. The can in his hand began to shake, his fingers trembling; he sat it down with a thump and watched as his whole hand twitched, a numbness spreading to his wrists and up his forearm. Breaths shortened into little gasps of air in and out in quick order. Thoughts spiraled through his head, echoes of orders and what ifs and imagined outcomes.

 

“Clint.” Phil gathered up Clint’s cold hands and surround them with his warm ones. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

 

Talking took energy, and Clint was falling away from himself, deep darkness rushing up towards him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

 

“Clint.” This time Phil’s voice was deeper with an edge of steel. He came around behind Clint, his body a wall that protected Clint, held him where he was. Phil spoke his name again, forceful, in a tone that brooked no argument; Clint had to obey. “Clint. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

 

“I’m … cold. Shaky. I can’t ... “ Words faltered, no way to describe the spiral that he was trapped in. “I want …”

 

“That’s it.” Heat flowed from Phil as an arm slipped around Clint’s waist and pulled him flush against Phil’s chest. “What do you need? What is it you want, Clint?”

 

“I almost dropped her. She would have been dead.” The dark curtain holding back the emotions ripped at its seams. “If we’d been a few minutes later, they’d have both been taken. Your house, Phil; I couldn’t save you when you were trapped inside.”

 

His whole body shuddered as black thoughts overwhelmed him. Blizzards and shadows and dead bodies talking. Too much. Suddenly, it was all too much.

 

“This is the fall,” Phil murmured in his ear. “Takes about 24 hours for the peyote to work out of your body completely. Plus you had that sedative as well. It’s hitting you now, dragging you down. Hold on to me; I’ll keep you from dropping.”

 

Logic. Phil’s explanation made sense, but Clint’s body and brain were beyond reason. He needed something to ground him. To tie himself to so he didn’t float away into recriminations.

 

“I need you, Phil.” Clint gave voice to his innermost desire; to have someone else take control, to tell him it was alright, to make him listen. “Can you … will you …”

 

A low sound came from Phil’s throat, and he slipped one hand into the small hairs at the back of Clint’s neck, gathering tight into a fist that pulled Clint’s head back and bared his throat. “Whatever you need,” Phil told him as his mouth descended on the curve of Clint’s neck, licking along the tendon. “Just tell me how you need it.”

 

“Fast. Hard. Don’t let me move. Don’t give me a choice.” His breath caught in his throat. “Fuck it out of me, Phil.”

 

He turned his head away, hiding his eyes in shame. He’d never asked anyone else to do that for him, always dealing with an emotional crash on his own. A deep seated need he feared no one else would understand, that would drive people away. He was strong and capable and now he that he was in charge, admitting this part of himself undermined the facade.

 

“Hey.” Phil caught his chin and turned his face towards him. “Don’t. There’s nothing wrong with asking. How do I know if you don’t tell me?” Phil rubbed his thumb along Clint’s jaw and leaned over to whisper in Clint’s ear “You want me to take you here? Or are you going to run and let me chase you?”

 

A jolt of pure lust ran down Clint’s spine; the panic pushed back as desire overrode his senses. He hesitated, the shivers not from exhaustion now, then he pushed back and headed for the stairs, expecting Phil to follow. Instead he watched as Clint climbed, his eyes dark and hooded, irises dilated. The gaze heated Clint’s skin as he dashed across the bedroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his clothes.

 

“On the bed,” Phil stood at the head of the stairs, still completely dressed. “Face down.”

 

Clint’s fingers shook as he dropped his briefs and left them laying on the floor. Three steps and he climbed onto the king sized mattress, stretching out and waiting.

 

“Ass in the air.” Phil’s voice was calm but filled with power. “Keep your shoulders flat on the bed.”

 

Embarrassment burned in his cheeks as Clint complied, baring himself to Phil. He buried his head in the pillow, breathing deeper to settle his nerves.

 

“Look at me, Clint.”

 

He had no choice but to turn so he could follow Phil’s fingers as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. Carefully folding each item and laying them in a stack on a chair, Phil took his time. Each measured movement comforted Clint; Phil’s eyes never left his as he opened the drawer and took out the gel and a condom. Then the bed dipped and Phi’s hands were on his hips; Clint moaned at the touch, his cock jerking.

 

“It’s not just the drugs,” Phil said as he pressed a slick finger in. “It’s the stress; it’s been one thing right after the other with no time to decompress in between.” He worked Clint open, gripping him tightly with one hand as he twisted and turned his fingers. “No one can be on all the time, Clint. You need time to let go.” 

 

“God, Phil. You’re so good.” Clint held his breath when Phil finally pushed in, a steady pressure that filled him up and drove out the last doubts and fears. He started to raise up on his elbows, but Phil’s hand on his neck held him, just the right weight to force him back down.

 

Phil began with slow thrusts that grew stronger with each pulse forward, adding more lube as needed, then speeding up as his fingernails bit into the skin on Clint’s hips. His head pressed down into the soft foam, Clint closed his eyes and bucked back each time Phil slammed forward. Jolt after jolt, like sparks of electricity in his over stimulated body, Clint’s orgasm built. Worming his hand under him, he stroked his cock until it ached and throbbed in time to his swift heartbeat. So close to the edge, Clint’s blood rushed in his ears, a steady whoosh that matched the thrum of release, the rest of the sounds falling away until all he could hear was the slap of flesh and the beating of his heart. Even those faded as Phil’s hand covered his cock and stroked hard, pulling all the anxiety out of Clint’s body, writing him dry as he came, nothing left but a quietness for Clint to float in.

 

_Opening his eyes, Clint saw the tops of the trees rustling in the wind, buds of green  growth on bare branches. They moved sinuously like an ancient dance, a primal rhythm they knew so well. He heard a whisper, the lightest of breezes, and he stretched out his arms to catch it, flying high above the ground. Beneath him, Phil darted between the trees, a full grown Lucky nipping at Phil’s tail and rolling in patches of clover. Wolf pups pounced on the dog, and they played in the sunlight as Clint spiraled down to the nearest branch._

 

_What he could have. What he wanted. What the mountain was offering. Such a simple choice with the answer already given._

 

“Yes,” he murmured. “Whatever you want.”

 

“That’s quite a broad ended offer.” Phil answered, his voice tickling the back of Clint’s ear, his weight a comforting blanket over Clint’s body.  “What about what you need?”

 

“It’s the same thing,” Clint replied.

 

His eyes drifted closed; so peaceful and so easy to slip into sleep, decision made. He mumbled when Phil got up, wiggled when the warm rag washed him, rolled over when Phil nudged him. Sheet and quilt covered him as he sank further into that lethargic place where he couldn’t move and didn’t want to.

 

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Phil said. Lips brushed across Clint’s then Phil left a series of little kisses along his neck and down his shoulder, stopping to bite lightly a couple of times and harder once.

 

“Such an alpha,” Clint murmured.

 

“Damn straight,” Phil said.

* * *

“Here, stir that gravy and don’t let it stick.” Mary Wilson offered a spatula to Clint as she left the stove to check on the wall oven. “All you’ve got to do is keep it moving.”

 

“Um, sure.” Clint had never seen someone make real gravy from scratch before and he hoped like hell he didn’t ruin it. “Smells great.”

 

“People have been trying for years to get Mary’s venison roast recipe,” Phil told him from the doorway to the dining room. A stack of plates were in his hand; he passed them off to Trip who was setting the big table. “So far, no luck.”

 

“Secret family recipe,” the grey haired woman told Clint with a wink. She only came up to the middle of Clint’s chest but she made up for in width what she lacked in height. For an 82-year-old, Mary was running circles around everyone as she put the dinner together. Leaning in, a big pan of yeast rolls in her oven mitt covered hand, she whispered, “Lipton powdered soup mix. Onion and mushroom flavor.”  Without turning, she called out, “Alphonse Mackenzie. No brownies before dinner.”

 

“Eyes in the back of her head,” Mack told Clint, putting the cover back on a tupperware full of dessert treats.

 

Clint hadn’t expected to be spending his Sunday night at a family dinner, but Mary had insisted he and Phil come over once she heard he wanted to hear some of her stories. The house had steadily filled up with Wilsons, Hills, and Coulsons, and Clint lost any hope of keeping track on who was related to who. With data gathering going on still in the case, learning more about his dream seemed like a productive way to spend the evening.

 

“Now, Philip, you know you’re welcome to stay with me until you get your house back in order. Give me a reason to clean that guest bedroom,” Mary said.

 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson. Nice to know so many people care; I’ve had lots of offers,” Phil replied, a handful of silverware ready for the table.

 

“You can add us to that list too,” Steve said from the dining room as he put extra chairs in place. “The couch is comfy and we’re close.”

 

Mary got a gravy boat out of the cabinet and put it on the counter near Clint. “Pour that in here, honey, and set it on the table. We’re about ready to eat.”

 

The big table was loaded down with food, a big roast on a silver serving platter the centerpiece. Roasted potatoes, green beans with bacon, a brussel sprout salad with dried cranberries, honey glazed carrots, and a big bowl of four cheese macaroni. Chairs had been dragged from all over the house, mixed and matched so there were enough seats to go around. The antique beveled glass light cast a warm glow as everyone jockeyed for a place, Mary at the head and Nick Fury at the other end. Trip and Mack obviously had their usual places, one anchoring each side. Clint wound up squeezed between Phil and Joe, seated across from Maya Lopez, the linguist, and Steve.

 

He filled his plate with a bit of everything, a long habit of his years in the orphanage. Take what was offered and be happy with it. Phil filled his glass with a dry red wine, something local, and Clint cut off a bit of the meat and popped it into his mouth. The flavors burst against his tongue, pepper and garlic and sauteed onions. The venison had the consistency of warm butter, melting as he chewed, just the slightest gamey taste at the very end.

 

“Wow.” Clint sipped the wine, a perfect pairing. “This is the best I’ve ever tasted. Had that fancy beef one time -- only good thing about a terrible date --  kobe, I think it’s called -- and this is twenty times better. You’re just going to have to marry me, Mary.”

 

She laughed, rich and hearty. “Not the first proposal I’ve gotten over a table full of my food,” she said. “But I’m going to have to say no. I’m sort of fond of Philip so I won’t take you away from him.”

 

“Thank you, Mary. No way could I compete with you.” Phil nudged Clint’s knee under the table as everyone chuckled.

 

The conversation was lively, avoiding the current case, and was filled with gentle ribbing and good natured joking. Clint sat, ate, and soaked up the warmth. He’d never had dinners like this growing up; even this best foster parents were overworked and stretched too thin. The expansion of his heart, the easy breaths -- this must be how it felt to have family.

 

“... protolanguage, much older than any I’ve seen before. It’s fascinating; my colleague at NYU is salivating to get out here and see the sites. Honestly, my translation is very tentative; I had to make educated guesses based upon cross-referencing later iterations and taking into account vowel shifts.” Maya Lopez was talking to Joe and Mary.

 

“You finished?” Clint asked. This was the first he’d heard of Dr. Lopez’s findings.

 

“There’s still a few symbols that I can’t work out. But I can tell it’s a olowa, a hymn of petition.” She forked up a bite of salad. “Mixed with a Yuwipi, a calling ceremony for the spirit in or of or on the Mountain.”

 

A silence fell and another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. Christian Ward, calling his monster into being with blood and death, setting it loose to wreak havoc. Clint knew they’d find other symbols with bodies in other caves just like the ones Lopez had seen.

 

“Well, now, who’s ready for seconds? There’s plenty, so help yourself. But save room for fried apple pies and ice cream,” Mary said.

 

After everyone had a dessert bowl with warm pastry pockets filled with gooey apples and cinnamon topped with scoops of vanilla bean ice cream, Mary Wilson took her place in her favorite chair, a handmade wooden rocker with rose covered cushions and a matching foot stool. Steve and Bucky were squished together on the overstuffed couch along with Trip and Nick; the two men looked perfectly content to be so close. Clint smiled at his friends and got a wink from Bucky in return. Phil picked the loveseat, and Clint settled in beside him, a cup of decaf on the end table. Natasha perched on the arm rest, leaning on Phil’s shoulder. Everyone else took separate chairs, Trip and Mack sharing the piano bench.

 

“The story you asked for is part of a larger one, the creation cycle of the Chippewa Cree. There’s not one main narrative; they contradict each other and many are incomplete,” Mary explained, accepting a tumbler full of bourbon from Mack. “The watchers is one of the strangest parts; I’ve probably only told it three times because it unsettles people. But if you’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Clint replied.

 

Mary nodded, took a sip, and began.

 

“Everything has a beginning. What was once nothing but a small spark can grow to a roaring blaze over time. Flint to steel, bark to bark, fire starts with friction. Before the First Ones, there were the Time Keepers. Before the Time Keepers, there were the Travelers. And before the Travelers, there were the Watchers.”

 

“When the song of the world was new, the Great Spirit chose from the Manitou those of strength and courage, the greatest of their kind, and set them to oversee creation. Their orders were clear; they must watch but never interfere in the will of the Spirit. And so they did. They saw the earth crumple into mountains and split into valleys. They saw clouds coalesce and rainfall, gather into streams and rivers and lakes and oceans. They saw dirt turn green, flowers bloom, trees reach their branches up to the heavens. They saw life form, the swimmers and climbers and hoppers and runners. They saw the change of the seasons, birth, life, death, and renewal.

 

“And through all, they thought, This is good. And they continued to watch.

 

“Then the first ones added their voices; the Manitou heard and were fascinated by them. For the first ones had what none of the rest of creation did; the power to choose their own fate. To love, to fight, to grow, to expand. To do good, to follow a darker path. The watchers saw and desire grew in their hearts..

 

“So they came to the first ones as flesh and bone, and they lived among them. At first, the Manitou sought only to know, but then they began to teach for they knew, the secrets of the universe. Farming and irrigation and building techniques. Music and song, poetry and philosophy

 

“Then it was metalsmithing, forging, and making of weapons. Strategy and battle. Magic and spiritualism. The ways of the spirits and the music of the spheres. They lay with the first ones and put children in the women’s bellies, giants born not of this world. They sewed chaos to watch it spread, played games to find the strongest, then gave them choice after choice to live or die.

 

“It was Coyote and Spider who discovered the peoples, scattered now from war and dissension, unable to speak the same language anymore. And it was Coyote who came up with a plan to deal with the Watchers, Spider who gave power to it. So they came to the villages and spoke to the Watchers, proposing a game of questions which all but one readily accepted. For the Manitou had become bored with the first ones and sought a greater challenge.

 

“Who among you is the greatest?” Coyote asked.

 

“For four days and four nights, they argued, each voting for themselves.

 

“We cannot chose,” they finally said.

 

“Well, then, who has done the most for the first ones?” Coyote asked.

 

“For four days and four nights, they argued and again admitted they could not choose.

 

“Alright, of all the pleasures you’ve experienced, which is the best?” Coyote asked.

 

“For four days and four night, they argued, unable to agree, for, as they were created with each a unique attribute, they all chose different things.

 

“Last question,” Coyote said, rising from his seat. “What do you want above all things?”

 

“To be able to chose an answer,” they replied, frustrated and angry with Coyote and the game.

 

“Done,” said Spider.

 

“And they all became human, mortal and fallible, to grow old and die.

 

“But Marut, their leader, was wary of Coyote and Spider, and he hid himself deep under the mountains, away from their gaze. Ages passed; he grew tired and slumbered, his bad dreams storms that broke upon the ragged peaks.

 

“So, they say, he sleeps still, only echoes of his voice ever heard.”

 

Chills ran up Clint’s spine; so many details spiraled together in his mind, searching for  connections.Coyote’s favorite question, being human, the watcher sleeping under the mountain. Could the shadow be the last Watcher? If Coyote could make humans shapeshifters, why couldn’t a fallen angel be lurking in radioactive caves?

 

“I’ve heard tales of the Watchers before. The Koran, Kabbalah, the story even appears in some of the Gnostic Gospels. They’re even mentioned in Genesis: there were giants in the earth then and after the sons of God had congress with the daughters of men. They bred children who became mighty men, men of renown. Can’t remember the chapter or verse number at the moment,[1]” Maya Lopez said. “I took a class in grad school about creation stories; paired well with my focus on ancient languages.”

 

“Always thought that was interesting, how different cultures told the same stories,” Mack said.

 

“It makes sense, actually. There’s one symbol, a circle with an arrow bisecting it, that I translated as Seer. But I wasn’t sure about it though, if the circle was only partial it would be more like those who watch.” Maya’s eyes were animated, interested in her work. “That one symbol would change the whole ritual! A Seer is a definitely not a watcher. I wonder if that could be it?”

 

“Well, I’m wondering if there’s more of these apple pies,” Phil said. He’d dropped his hand on Clint’s knee during the story, a warm link between them. “Then maybe we can talk Mary into singing one of the Coyote songs.”

 

“Or the story about the kid taken in by the big horn sheep,” Bucky spoke up. “I’ve never heard that from the beginning and it’s Steve’s favorite.”

 

There was an exodus towards the kitchen where platters were filled with brownies and pies.Head full to bursting, Clint slipped out the back door and sat on the porch swing, the light from the window pouring around him.

 

“You thinking it’s the lost Watcher?” Natasha asked, emerging from the dark and leaning against a column. Too caught up in his deductions, Clint hadn’t heard her come out the door. “Some ancient evil from the beginning of days.”

 

“And saying that out loud makes it sound even sillier,” Clint replied. “But I’m at that point where the probable isn’t possible, so I’ll go with what I have.”

 

“Takes some balls to adjust your view of the world, doesn’t it?” she said. “That there’s more than what you knew.”

 

Clint tilted his head and looked up at her. “And exactly how do you fit into all this? You’re not local, but you know a lot about it.”

 

“I’m a wanderer,” she answered. “I like to build things, learn new skills. I spent a summer picking grapes in Napa Valley, ran a daycare in Sao Paolo, taught ballet in Montreal. I ended up here and discovered there wasn’t a middle class bar, so I started one. Poured drinks enough times to know the ropes and slung hash at diners; wasn’t that hard.”

 

“And everyone tells their secrets to a bartender?” Clint chuckled. 

 

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve run into the supernatural.” She shrugged. “When you travel around like I do, you’re on the outside; it’s easier to see from there. Same as you.”

 

The door opened and Trip stuck his head out. “If you want more pie, better get in here. They’re going fast.”

 

“If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Mary’s pies are worth every calorie,” Natasha said. “That’s the truth.”

* * *

 

“I was thinking,” Clint opened with as they drove back to his house. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you should take one of the offers to stay in town. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you with me,  it’s just, maybe it’s better if you …”

 

Phil cut in. “Yes. If I stay with you, it’s like moving in together and then we’ll never know if we wanted to do it because we wanted it …”

 

“Or if it was just expedient.” Clint let out the breath he’d been holding. “I want to do this right, Phil. You’re worth it.”

 

“Wow, okay.” Phil’s blush was practically visible in the dark car. “Yeah, you’re more than worth it too. I think I’ll take Miss DePriest’s offer to use her guest bed. She’s right next door, so I can oversee the work.”

 

“Well, she does know you’re coming and goings anyway.” Clint turned into his driveway. “But the reading group is going to know all every detail of our lives.”

 

“They already do, Clint. They already do.”

* * *

The dream was a jumble of people and animals, one shifting into the other and back again with no rhyme nor reason. The sun rose and fell, the moon waxing and waning as Clint flew above it all, searching the changing topography beneath him.

 

“Clint.”

 

His eyes flew open at the sound of his name. Running a hand across the bed, he reached out for Phil to see what he wanted. But all his fingers found was cool sheets.

 

“Phil?”  Rumpled sheets and an indented pillow were the only hint. “Lucky?”

 

Pushing back the covers, Clint reached for his discarded jeans and slipped them on, standing up to find his boots. He peeked over the stair railing and a jolt of fear ran through him; the back door was standing open, a cool breeze blowing into the room.

 

“Phil!” Grabbing a hoodie from the back of a chair, he clattered down the stairs, stopping only to grab his gun, phone, and the maglight from the kitchen drawer. Flipping on the outside lights, he stepped onto the deck; wind whipped through the trees, the forest a dark presence looming just beyond the yard. There was no sign of Phil; Clint’s eyes searched the trees, looking for any clues.

 

A whimper came from under one of the benches around the firepit; crouching down, Clint saw Lucky curled up as far back in the corner as he could get.

 

“Hey, pup.” Holding out his hand, he let the dog get a good sniff. When Lucky made a move towards him, Clint caught him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out. The dog immediately burrowed his nose into the hoodie trying to crawl inside. “Okay, buddy, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

 

He dropped Lucky onto the living room floor, ignoring his whines of protest, and shut the door. Taking out his phone, he dialed the familiar number, turning back to the forest as he waited for an answer.

 

“Clint?” Steve mumbled, obviously half-asleep. “What …”

 

“I woke up and Phil was gone. The door was open and I think he went into the woods. Something bad has happened.” Clint cut off Steve’s question, hyperaware of time passing.

 

“Okay. We’re on our way,” Steve said. In the background, Clint could hear Bucky grumble. Normally, he’d have a quip about them being in bed together, but not tonight.

 

A shadow separated from between the trees and stalked forward; the bear was much more defined than the last time Clint had seen it. Stopping at the corner fence post, the shadow waited, impatiently shifting on all four feet.

 

“I’m going to leave my phone on; it’s got GPS, so you can track it.” Clint took two steps towards the bear and it turned and started walking into the woods, pausing to look back over its shoulder when Clint didn’t follow.

 

“Clint. Don’t do anything stupid,” Steve warned.

 

“That’s a given, Steveo. Come get me.” Clint ended the call, dropped the phone into his jeans pocket and headed into the woods. 

 

The shadow bear set a fast pace; Clint almost had to jog to keep up, almost tripping over roots as his flashlight shook in his hand. Fog drifted in the pockets of low ground, the tree limbs rustling above him. Only the tiniest sliver of the new moon was in the sky; darkness shrouded the path, the foliage above a drape that kept light from getting in. The bear passed behind a tree and emerged a stag then changed again into a vulture before back to a bear.

 

For seventeen minutes, Clint followed, his heels slipping up and down in his untied boots. He stumbled to his knees twice and had to jump back up to keep pace with the shadow. And then he came into a clearing; in the middle was a large stone, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. Symbols adorned the pitted surface of grey granite, drips of red from fresh blood; kneeling at the foot of the stone, arms pulled behind and tied around the stone, Phil’s eyes met Clint’s, filled with warning. He was shivering, bare skin covered with goosebumps, a fresh line of blood drawn across his chest, and he still shook his head no.

 

The bear drifted apart, roils of black coming together with other shadows and growing taller. A torso then legs then arms; a head emerged, a good two feet taller than Clint. The body solidified, but the skin stayed black, an androgynous body long and sleek. A pair of leathery wings unfurled, wingtips spreading across the space then coming back to rest, folded across its back.

 

“Okey dokey,” Clint said. “Marut, I take it. Feeling your oats after being asleep for so long?”

 

Clear white eyes opened; words issued from where a mouth would be but only smooth black skin existed. “T’was not sleep. I heard it all -- wars and pain and death -- voices crying out to be relieved.”

 

“That’s very … Brigadoon, but I’m not Gene Kelly and I don’t want to run off to a mystical land.” Clint said. His hand found the hilt of his gun in his pocket. “What do I have to do to get you to go home with Bonnie Jean and leave us alone?”

 

Marut cocked its head and looked Clint over from head to foot. “You have her spirit; it is good to know that the centuries have not bred that out of you. T’was one of the things that made her bearable after she changed.”

 

“Right, I’ve got this one. The sassy she is my ancestor, a human you cared for or thought was worth noticing. Maybe she was a pain in your ass and you respected it. Whatever reason, you think because I’m her four hundredth great great, I’m going to fall into your arms and do whatever you want.”  Clint kept his eyes on the shadow as he spoke. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve never been one to toe the line.”

 

“She was one of us; when Coyote tricked them, the others were forced into human bodies, limited and dying. Before, Harut was the other half of my thought. Some of that remains in you, submerged in your unconsciousness. You will be my vessel. The others were too weak, but with your genetics, you will  withstand my presence.”

 

“Sorry, dude but I have free will so I can  say ‘Fuck you’ and take the consequences.” The flashlight grew heavy in his hand; he clicked it off, not needing it in the light of the clearing.  “So this is the part where you tell me you’ll let Phil go if I agree to be your butt buddy, right? Let me save you the time; that won’t work. Once you get in my head, you’ll just have me do it. Yeah, I’ve got trust issues.”

 

“I have no desire to kill the wolf. He is your mate and his power flows into you. We will need him.” With a wave of his arm, he broke the rope; Phil fell forward onto his hands then pushed himself up.

 

“Clint, it’s finished the ritual to free itself. It just needs you to finish it,” Phil said before he changed. Wolf Phil growled and bared his teeth at the winged creature before he loped over to stand at Clint’s side. Warm fur brushed against Clint’s leg and steadied him.

 

“What exactly do you want?” Clint asked. It was worth the chance that the villain would spill his plan. Sometimes, in Clint’s experience, they actually did. “To take over the world? Or is this just a hissy fit because you didn’t like your job?”

 

“And if I answer, you hope to trap me like the others? You have no power over me despite your heritage. I will take what I want” It spread its wings and wind whipped the branches, bending the treetops into a frenzied dance. The symbols on the rock glowed a sickly green.

 

Clint knew Marut was right; all he had was a gun and a flashlight, hardly enough to take on an eternal evil spirit creature right from legends. But if he let Marut have him, then that would be worse. People would die. Better to make a stand here and die fighting than become his host.

 

“I can say no.” Clint stepped into the clearing, planting his feet and taking the gun out of his pocket. “You’re just another green eyed monster wanting what you can’t have. Haven’t you heard? It’s better to take what the Mountain gives you than make demands.”

 

“There will be no fight; you cannot hope to defeat me alone.” Green lightning spiraled around its arms and down to its fingers, collecting into shimmering balls of energy. Clint took a deep breath, tensed his muscles and got ready to react. Beside him, Phil crouched down on all fours, his tail bushed out and straight up, wagging in warning, as he bared his teeth and growled.

 

“Good thing he’s not alone,” Bucky said, stepping up beside Phil. He held a fireplace poker in one hand and leather bag in the other. A large sheep with curling horns that reached almost to Clint’s shoulder took place on Clint’s left side, pawing at the ground with his front hoof and lowering those horns as a threat.

 

“What are you going to do with that?” Clint asked Bucky, nodding at the poker.

 

“Iron, man. Ghosts and faeries are afraid of it, so I figured why not?” He shrugged. “Besides, we brought back up.”

 

Melinda slunk out of the other side of the forest, her brown coat sleek, her muscles bunching as she prepared to spring. Almost six feet tall, a moose came from the far right, dark hair and spreading antlers casting long shadows -- Mack was a big and imposing an animal as he was in his human form. On the far left, an eight point buck emerged, shaking his head and flipping his white tail; Trip, taking his place as part of the circle. The grizzly bear was a surprise; Clint thought Bruce was still under the influence, but he was there, not a sign of green glow. A brown bear  was beside him; the young Teddy Altman, still new to his change. Wade was in human form, a collection of pouches looped around his neck and a glowing stick of incense that he held out before him. Billy had another stick, as did Cassie, Nate  and Tommy. Kate Bishop and Sam Wilson swooped down and landed on top of the rock, eyeing the whole tableau from their perch.  Joe, Nick, and Grant filled in gaps, guns at the ready. A small red fox darted between Mack’s hoofs and a black spotted bobcat slunk around Melinda. Thor’s two dogs barked and pulled at their leashes.

 

“This changes nothing,”  Marut said. “Coyote’s gift means no more to me than a drop of water to an ocean. I am old and powerful; this land was mine to watch over long before your kind came and claimed it. I will wipe you from it and start anew, create the paradise this world was supposed to be.”

 

“The power of creation was not given to you,” Natasha said; Clint hadn’t seen her arrive. She was next to Wade, her hands empty, no weapons.

 

“Then I take it for my own.” Marut stretched his fingers and green fire danced between them. “And what I make will be better than the mess you are.”

 

In a blink of his eye, the scene before him dimmed and Clint saw Coyote walk around the stone.

 

_“Seems like this game is stacked against you,” he said._

 

_“Well, I’m open to any advice,” Clint admitted. “I can use harsh language, but that’s pretty much all I’ve got.”_

 

_“You already owe me.”_

 

_A statement of fact, one Clint was well aware of. He’d answered the Coyote’s question and now the bill was coming due._

 

_“I’ll pay it,” Clint agreed._

 

_“Then let’s play. How do you feel about finger painting?”_

 

Time speeded back up and Clint knew what to do.

 

“So how does the radiation fit into all this?” He stepped forward bringing Marut’s attention back to him. Strolling up to the stone, he looked at the glowing symbols. “It’s gamma, right?”

  

“The spirits leave marks when they pass,” the Watcher said. “The earth bears witness to our footsteps.”

 

“Well, you guys got around then,” Clint replied, studying the face of the rock. There it was, the half circle and the arrow; all he needed was fresh blood. Thankfully, the granite had a few unweathered sharp edges. “And we get to thank you for Fat Man and Little Boy.”

 

In one quick move, he dragged his finger across a ridge and finished the circle with a bright red arc. Marut erupted in a roar; his wings fluttered and his hand grabbed Clint’s wrist, pulling him off his feet. Green engulfed Clint first then the pain wracked his body. A force pushed him back, wrapping him in what felt like barbed wire that bit into his very soul. Sharp pricks of agony wracked through his nervous system as he struggled against a wave of anger and hatred that threatened to drown him whole.

 

He’d known the price would be high. Coyote was trickster at heart; anyone who dealt with him took a risk. If he had to die to save the others and the town, then that was what the Mountain asked of him, and he’d already accepted the outcome. With a sigh, he gave up the fight and sank into a well of agony. Coming apart at the joints, he fell to pieces, each one twisting and contorting; watching the horror of his own dismemberment, Clint’s head spun and he saw Phil dancing around Marut’s legs, Bucky swinging his poker, and the others joining the attack.

 

Blood pounded in his ears and the world changed; colors brightened and shapes sharpened, edges becoming crisp and clear. His depth perception reached further into the woods where he could see every scar on Wade’s face and count the hairs of Melinda’s fur. Wind blew through him; he could see the pattern, the dips and curves the air current took, intimately knew how to turn his arm and catch the updraft.

 

Clint burst free of Marut’s hold, shaking off his hoodie as he launched himself up and opened his mouth, a screech echoing through the clearing.  Sam joined him on his left, wing tip to wing tip, and Kate on his right. The wind sang in his heart and the Mountain rang in his ears. Below him, the others all attacked, darting in and out to snap at the Watcher, biting and clawing away bits of flesh. Wade shoved his hand into a hole Bruce created and flicked on the powerful LED flashlight he was holding. With a scream, Marut lit up like an x-ray, his skin going translucent; there, in his neck, a flash of green, a centralized source. Clint dived, tucking his wings in close, going on instinct, and snatched the nodule of black goo before the Watcher could stop him. Circling, he landed on top of the stone and carefully drew over the symbol, mingling all three fluids -- his and Phil’s blood, and Marut’s energy.

 

The rock trembled then vibrated with abandon, the whole hillside rocking beneath them. Joe shouted for everyone to get back; all but Clint and Phil obeyed. With a bark, Phil begged Clint to go, but Clint shook his feathered head and hoped Phil understood. A sacrifice had to be made, one of human and watcher blood. Phil whined, but he darted for the trees, escaping a last ditch effort by Marut to grab him.

 

“You can’t end me. I am immortal.” Marut faced the stone, stand tall despite the quaking of the whole mountain. “I will find a way to return and you won’t be here to protect them.”

 

If he could have, Clint would have sighed the last of his doubt away. A quiet peace descended, his mind and soul at rest in his last moment. He’d known love. He’d known friendship. He’d know what it felt like to fly. The Mountain had given him everything he could want. What more was there?

 

The rock exploded into a million tiny shards that ripped through Marut, dispersing his energy and leaving little for the blastwave to blow away. Light blossomed behind Clint’s eyes and, surprisingly, he felt no pain, only a second of tension and then a free-floating sensation like riding an air current.

 

_He opened his eyes. The bar was empty except for Natasha behind the counter. She slid a bowl of stew towards him and a heady glass of dark ale. “Eat. It’s a new recipe. Tell me what you think.”_

 

_“I’m dead.” Clint stared at the rich broth loaded with chunks of meat and vegetables. “And you’re feeding me.”_

 

_“Kind of deserve a good meal, don’t you think? Not many people can say they killed the demon under the mountain. Take a minute and fill your belly. It will make what happens next easier.” Natasha leaned on her elbows. “Pretty high price Coyote asked.”_

 

_Clint spooned up a bite of meat and chewed on it thoughtfully. “Nah. Pretty much equal value, I’d say. To serve and protect. That’s what I signed up for.”_

 

_“I like you,” she said, reaching over to ruffle his already bed head hair. “Certainty of death, small chance of success? You didn’t wait, just rushed right in.”_

 

_The stew was warm and spicy, just like Clint liked it. “For Frodo,” he agreed, lifting his beer in salute, earning a laugh from the red head._

 

_“There never was much hope,” she said with a smile. She brushed his cheek lightly and a tingle jolted his skin. Where her fingertips touched, he felt pins and needles spread. “That’s why you earned my gift too.”_

 

_He put the beer down and looked into her green eyes. “I didn’t see this coming,” he admitted._

 

_“Don’t worry. No one ever sees me coming.”_

 

Clint woke, looking up into two sets of blue eyes, one wolf and one human. Phil licked his face, bathing his cheeks in warm breath; Bucky grinned at him, squeezing his arm.

 

“Look who’s back,” Bucky said. “Had us all scared there for a minute or two.”

 

He struggled to sit up; pain flared in his rib cage and he flopped down onto his back again. “Ouch. Yeah, I’m just going to stay right here.”

 

“Pretty much a damn miracle you’re even breathing, you know.” Bucky eased one knee under and lifted Clint’s head onto his thigh. “How you survived that blast … well, I won’t say it’s impossible because lots of impossible things have been happening lately.”

 

“Hey, Clint!” Wade emerged from the very normal shadows of the trees. “May I just say, I like the angle of the dangle, man.”

 

Clint’s hands immediately flew to his hips; denim met his fingertips. “Who put on my pants?” he asked.

 

“I promise, no touchy.” Wade held up three fingers, a girl scout pledge. “Unconscious people don’t want tea. I saw that video they show the kids. Besides, what fun is it if you can’t spank me?”

 

The chuckle bubbled out of Clint’s lips before he could stop it, followed by another sharp pain. “Ow, don’t make me laugh, Wade. I think I’ve bruised a rib or two.” 

 

“Can do, Cupid. Just let me know when the threesome is on. I’m always up for it.” Wade winked at Clint and then walked away.

 

“That dude is odd,” Bucky commented.

 

Stepping up beside Bucky in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Steve clapped his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Odd but underneath it, he’s a decent guy. We’d never have made it through this without that salve that Old Tom gave him to protect us from being taken over. I think we can cut him some slack.”

 

Phil huffed at that, his unhappiness with Wade’s flirting evident. Curling up beside Clint, Phil draped his head onto Clint’s shoulder, worming his way between Clint’s arm and chest.

 

“Everyone’s okay?” Clint didn’t know what all had happened.

 

“A few minor cuts and bruises, but, yes, everyone’s okay. They’re all off putting their clothes back on; Melinda and Maria have them in hand, organizing their stories and setting up the crime scene. Only Phil’s still in wolf form because he doesn’t want the kids to see him naked,” Steve said.

 

“Would make for awkward hallway conversations at school,” Bucky added with a grin. “Hey, Principal Coulson, how’s it hanging today!”

 

A little rumble came from Phil’s throat and Clint scratched behind his ears to settle him. “Yeah, watch it, Buck. I haven’t forgotten that phone call to Steve earlier; when did you start sleeping in the same bed, or were you even sleeping?”

 

Steve’s face flushed red and he averted his eyes. Bucky, however, only smiled wider. “What can I say? Steve’s a horny bastard.”

 

“Oh,” Clint groaned out loud. “That’s terrible. Kick him out Steve. No kissy face for Bucky’s bad puns.”

 

The others wandered by, a few at a time, checking on Clint and Phil before they left. The kids were hyped up on adrenaline, Tommy bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Billy staring at Teddy with stars in his eyes. Cassie shyly thanked Clint, and Kate made a joke about being his wingman anytime. Sam offered to listen if Clint needed to talk about it. Mack talked about motorcycles, Trip planned to bring by food tomorrow, Joe and Nick nodded, and Thor praised Clint’s initiative. Pepper and Maria, who Clint learned were the fox and bobcat respectively, promised to help with the fallout, Pepper using her PR connections and Maria looking at the suspect land deals. Bruce checked Clint out and declared his ribs only bruised, giving Bucky and Steve clear orders to wrap Clint tightly when they got him home. Grant hung back until almost the end then promised to take Clint’s shifts for the next two days so he could get some rest. Melinda was the end of the line; she filled Clint in just like it was a regular crime scene, sitting on the ground beside him as she walked through the details and her plans.

 

“So you go home and rest. We almost lost you tonight. Hell, we did really. I don’t know what happened out there, but I honestly thought this was a losing fight.” Melinda shook her head. “At most I thought we’d slow it down. In the story, it took both Coyote and Spider; none of us are native spirits.”

 

Clint glanced over Mel’s shoulder and saw Natasha lounging against a tree. “It was Coyote’s gift that let me change the ritual. Maybe that was enough.”

 

“Maybe,” Melinda admitted, frowning as if not satisfied. “And maybe not.”

 

One eyebrow and one side of her lips raised, Natasha nodded before she disappeared into the night.

 

“Anyway,” Clint said. “My own bed sounds pretty good right about now. Ready, Phil? I bet Lucky’s made a mess. Let’s go home.”

 

[1] Genesis 6:4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarifications ...
> 
> The people who were infected by the shadow were exposed to prolong gamma radiation which, as Marut explains, is a residue of the Watchers passing through the world. There's some wonderful Choctaw legends about spirits who leave "footprints" where they touch the ground; I shamelessly stole from that tradition. 
> 
> Christian was feeding the shadow by the ritual and the murders (although it was the blood of the victim mixed with Christian's that was important; he just grew to like killing). In no way am I suggesting the radiation is to blame for his crimes, but that the shadow used Christian's instability for its own purposes.
> 
> I intentionally blurred the gendered pronouns for the Shadow/Marut. As a watcher, he was neither male nor female. Clint's ancestor, Harut, became a female human, so I used "she" to denote her gender. 
> 
> The story Mary tells about the Watchers is all my own invention. When Maya Lopez talks about the watchers in the Kaballah and the Koran, that's all true. In the gnositic Christian writing, The Book of Enoch, the story is told of Harut and Marut, the two leaders of the Watchers who "fell" and taught humans magic, brought evil into the world, and begat a race of giants with human women. And, yep, the verse exists in Genesis that Maya quotes, left over from earlier versions of that book. 
> 
> As for Clint's ancestor, if the watchers began human, their genetics would be mixed into the human race. A great way to explain why some people can hear the Mountain and others can't. Also a very useful device to allow Clint to change into a Hawk because, DAMN IT, Clint needs to be a hawk. 
> 
> Proto-languages are real and there are linguists who are trying to track down the "first" language. Many believe it to be a myth. For the Supernatural fans out there, my version is based upon the SPN idea of Enochian, the language of the angels. When Clint changes the symbol from Watcher to Seer, mixing his, Phil, and Marut's blood together, he changes the ritual, calling into being a Seer, not Marut. 
> 
> I will be posting a full list of who is who and what animal they become after chapter 12, along with who they are in the Marvel Universe.
> 
> Did you see Natasha coming? As I was plotting this story, my daughter and I would talk it out while driving in the car. She at first suggested that Nat be Coyote, but we soon realized that Spider was a better choice for our favorite kick ass woman. I hoped you guys would realize something was up in Clint's dream vision when she offered him a drink and advice. 
> 
> Loose ends will be tied up in the next chapter. I thought it would be a short little epilogue, but it turned into a longer series of events that take place over the summer. The characters all wanted an ending ... or a beginning as it were. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of this story with one last chapter of vignettes and loose ends to tie up. The scenes happen as spring turns into high summer, with the final one being in mid-August. Hope you enjoyed the ride!

“As of yesterday, all victims bodies have been returned to their families; as part of our department’s policy, names will be released after the families have time to make arrangements. I can also report that Dr. Samson, the Army Corps of Engineers, and his team have cleared four of the twelve known radiation sites; he expects to have all of them safely closed down or neutralized by the end of the summer.” Clint glanced out at the gathered journalists; in the last four weeks, he’d come to know most of the faces, learn who to trust and who would stab him in the back in a heartbeat. The number had winnowed down to the local people and a few national teams that stayed on the story. .

 

Clint continued. “I’m pleased to announce that Joe Donovan, recently appointed Senator by Governor Bullock, has finalized an agreement with the EPA to begin a comprehensive geological survey to locate any pockets of radioactive material as well as to map the cave systems. The project is expected to take a number of years; almost all the scientific outposts in the park will be reopened to accommodate the researchers.  Plans for the Festival are in full swing and Park staff report that the trails are cleared and open, ready for all the nature lovers to come visit.”

 

“Sheriff, are you satisfied that Senator Ward has told you everything? Is he holding out on you?” Ben Ulrich asked.

 

“I’m convinced that Ward is telling the truth. He’s responded well to the treatment and medication, and he’s shown real remorse for his actions. With the radiation poisoning waning, he regrets what he’s done and has been very helpful.” Clint had been expecting that question. There was a lot of discussion in both the local and national press about Christian Ward’s culpability for his crimes. Just how much of his madness was genetic, learned behavior, or Marut’s influence, no one knew.  Everyone involved were more than happy to see Christian get the treatment he needed, but none of it negated the heinous acts Ward had committed. “All the rest of the exposed are also doing well with the new treatments. We’re very lucky to have Dr. Samson and others who are specialists in the field; we owe a great thanks to the CDC and his unflagging energy for the work.”

 

“Is it true that there’s a deal in the offing for Ward to plead not guilty by reason of insanity?” Jessica Drew shouted from the back of the pack, talking over the blonde Fox reporter. Clint liked her; she was sassy and funny and always got the details right. She even quoted sources correctly. Like a dog with a bone when she got her mind set on  a story, Jessica was the type of reporter Clint could respect.

 

“My office is not in the business of making legal decisions,” Clint reminded her. “Ward will be charged with eleven murders and two attempted murders. From there it’s up to the courts. But I will say that Ward understands the implications of what he’s done and the punishment that he faces.”

 

“How will this affect the festival?” Peter Parker asked from his place in the front, balanced on a concrete planter. “Are there worries that the murders will drive people away?”

 

“Great question, Peter,” Clint said. “I’m going to turn the mic over to Darcy Lewis, program coordinator for this year’s event to fill you in on the details. We have a great line up of performers and artisans, as always, including some bands that I’ve been assured are very popular with people your age, and a few for older rockers like me.” He got a few chuckles from the older people in the crowd. “I want to reiterate that the danger is over and all clean up sites are clearly marked. As a big believer in informing the public, I’m happy to say that Dr. Samson, Dr. Lopez, and others will be moderating a series of lectures and presentations on their fields of speciality. Dr. Lopez’s colleague, the best selling author Dr. Stephen Strange, will be talking about Cree creation stories and proto-languages. And our very own Mary Wilson will share some of those stories and tales every afternoon during “Storytime in the Park.” It will be a great way for families to get off their feet, have some ice cream, and learn about local legends. Overall, pre-sales of tickets are running higher than usual, and I, for one, can’t wait to experience my very first festival.”

 

Clint motioned Darcy up to the podium and watched her take charge of the crowd, explaining the information packet that she’d given out with all the details. Thank God, he thought, for Pepper and her media consultants who’d help frame these last few weeks in a positive way; the coverage showed the department as competent, and the townspeople look like the caring citizens they were. He’d worried they’d want him to lie or fudge the truth, but they’d made stating the facts easier in the long run. Christian’s trial was still a long way off, and already the talk was turning to the festival and summer in the park. That was a win for everyone.

 

“You make out like you’re an old man,” Melinda said as he came back in the office. “Maybe you should listen to more than the classic rock channel.”

 

“Hey, I happen to like big hair and glam rock,” he shot back, eyeing the stack of paperwork waiting on his desk. “A little headbanging goes a long way to getting that done.”

* * *

Clint wandered the closed off street, stopping to chat with the various vendors who’d set up stalls along the sidewalk. The sheer amount of creative items for sale made his head spin; he’d even memorized the layout before hand and still got lost. Day three of the first week and things were going well by all standards. A few mistakes on who went were, some overbookings at local hotels, the normal crowd control, and a couple drunk and disorderlies, but that was to be expected. The hospital reported a few cases of gastrointestinal stress (eating too much)  and sunburn, all treated and released. The real test would come on Friday when the big concerts started; week nights were reserved for local and regional bands and performances by dance groups and other entertainers. The Nez Perce were staging a big exhibition on Saturday during the day, out near Thor’s place in a big empty field; they were expecting more than usual to attend, what with all the fascination with Native American tribes the case had stirred up. The local Chief had taken this as an opportunity to share his culture; Clint was glad to have them as part of the festivities.

 

“Hey, Sheriff!” Wade Wilson called him over to a three sided booth filled with an odd assortment of items. His unique hammer bouquets, as Wade had taken to calling them, were alongside racks of jewelry that included braided wire bracelets in all kinds of colors; necklaces and earrings made of lug nuts, screws and washers; and rings that matched them all. Wind chimes with drill bits hung on the other side, metal tinkling in the morning breeze. “I’ve got something for you.”

 

He handed Clint a leather thong with a washer tied on the end; symbols were etched in the metal. “Wade, you know I can’t …”

 

“Hear me out. Got the symbols from Maya for protection. I’m giving one to everybody.” Wade nodded at a tupperware container filled with similar necklaces. “Plus, it’s good advertising; if someone asks, just tell them where you got it.”

 

“Oh, look, Emma! Aren’t these perfect for Jack? The man who has everything? I’m going to get him the lug nut cufflinks. Remember when he wanted me to help him fix the car? Lug nuts, he kept shouting at me.” A brunette in a sundress picked the cuffs up and showed them to her companion, another woman in denim shorts and a tank top. “See, I do know what they are!”

 

Wade hustled over, ever the businessman, and turned on his biggest smile. “Great choice ladies. Engraving is only $3 dollars today with purchase, so you can add a personalized note.”

 

“These are so clever. I have to tell Molly about them,” the other woman said. “She’ll love them.”

 

“How long would engraving take?” the first woman asked, hesitating.

 

“Maybe 15 minutes. You have to walk three blocks to my store, but Dennis is on duty, and he’s got the steadiest hand I’ve ever seen. Plus, you pass the First Baptist tent on the way; if you’ve never had one of Mary Wilson’s fried pies, they are to die for.”

 

“Oh, wait, is that where we bought the blackberry jam and pie filling last year? Jack went crazy for it. Said it was better than his mother’s. We definitely have to go there.”

 

Clint nodded to Wade, dropped the necklace in his pocket and continued his walk. A fried pie did sound like a good afternoon snack.

* * *

“This isn’t going to work. It was a one time deal.”  Clint had talked himself into believing it too. The hawk had been taken away as part of Coyote’s price. And Natasha’s gift was his survival. But everyone … and that meant literally everyone … believed the opposite. After much nagging and a lot of eye rolling, Clint had agreed to at least try to change, but with only Phil present.

 

“Okay, then this is just naked meditation,” Phil agreed, sitting crosslegged on the blanket they’d spread out on a sunny rock. He was fully dressed, but Clint had shed his clothes so not to be trapped in them if he was successful. “Close your eyes and breathe deep.”

 

“Be better if you were bare assed too,” Clint mumbled, complying with Phil’s directions.

 

“Then we’d never get anything accomplished,” Phil said.

 

He had a point; the sex was only getting better. Clint hadn’t been this satisfied in … well, probably never. Not when he was young and into the bar scene, that’s for sure. Maybe it was Phil himself that made Clint horny all the time. The way he smiled, that little groan he gave when Clint kissed the back of his knees, the tiny mole he had on his …

 

“Focus on flying, not that,” Phil reminded him.

 

“That is pretty appealing,” Clint joked.

 

Phil huffed and Clint turned his mind back to the dreams he’d been having almost every night. The wind rushing through feathers, as buoyant as water, holding him aloft. Sharp colors and crisp lines. Catching a current and gliding, land spread out far below. Picking out Phil, running along a forest path. Dipping a wing and banking to the left, catching up with Kate and passing her.

 

And the silence. That’s what he remembered the most. The absolute stillness in his mind, nothing but the joy of flight and the sound of the the Mountain sighing in contentment. Weightless, floating along without troubles or worries. Stillness. Calm. Peace.

 

“Clint.” Phil spoke quietly. “Open your eyes.”

 

He had to crane his neck to look at  Phil, so far above him. Every line and wrinkle was etched clearly on his face, his eyes four shades of blue and a mixture of greens. Flexing his talons, Clint gripped the blanket and flapped his wings. A half chirp, half screech came from his beak.

 

“Yes, I know. I was right; told you so. Now, do you want to try and …”

 

Bunching his muscles, Clint launched himself into the air, caught an updraft, and was soaring over the tree tops in seconds, spiraling out then coming back to Phil before he circled again. From here, he could see everything -- his house, the road, Natasha’s place, Thor and Jane’s, the town in the distance. A warmth filled his breast, and he called out loudly, the sound ringing through the forest.

 

On the next pass, he saw his wolf dodging through the trees, keeping pace with him. Diving, he blew past Phil, wing strokes ruffling the grey fur, avoiding the playful nip of Phil’s teeth before he rose upwards and called out again, challenging Phil to catch him if he could.

* * *

“You sure about this?” Clint asked for the fourth time.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Phil replied with a long suffering sigh.

 

“I mean, it’s your home, been in the family for generations.” Clint wasn’t sure why he was arguing, just that he needed to know Phil wanted this.

 

“It’s also a money pit with a never ending list of things to fix, filled with antiques from the past.” Phil turned to Clint. “Time to think about the future with you. It’s a great offer, much better than I imagined I’d get. Pepper buying it through the Maria Stark foundation to donate to the Historical Society? Best of all worlds. And I get to leave a lot of the furniture for the museum and meeting rooms.”

 

“I know, I just …”

 

Phil kissed him, right there on the street in front of his house, the rubber mallet on the ground next to the Sold sign.

* * *

“It’s my two week notice,” Grant said, laying the carefully printed letter on Clint’s desk. “I’ve accepted a job in Tucson, Arizona with the Pima County Sheriff’s Office. It’s an Assistant Sheriff, so technically a small step up, but the department there is much bigger; it’s good experience if I want to be a sheriff one day.”

 

Clint looked at the sheet of paper in front of him then carefully laid it on his desk.  Not surprised by the move, Clint had been expecting Grant to make some decision about his future but thought he’d wait until the summer was over.

 

Taking Clint’s silence for disapproval, Grant started to explain.  “It’s just, well, I know people don’t blame me but … it’s hard. My parents aren’t exactly thrilled that I sided with the law and not my family. And then there’s the looks, the quiet discussions in corners. I’ve got a couple friends down that way and they got me the interview, and, well, maybe a new place will make a difference.”

 

“Grant, it’s fine,” Clint told him. “I think it sounds like a good move. They’ll be a lot busier down there, and you’ll get some border experience, build your resume. Knowing people will make the shift easier, although it’s quite a weather change.”

 

His face relaxing into a smile, Grant nodded. “They have mountains which get snow, but, yeah, I won’t need the heavy coat nearly as often.” He held out his hand; Clint stood and shook it.

 

“We’re going to miss you around here. Seriously, it’s high tourist season. I should make you find your own replacement,” Clint joked.

 

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Barnes has been doing a bang up job as extra security. If I were you, I’d hire him as a permanent officer and promote Trip. I’d suggest Rogers, but I hear Fury’s poaching him for Search and Rescue, to lead the new headquarters here in town,” Grant said.

 

“I don’t mind at all. Actually, I’m glad to hear your opinion. Bucky’s an old friend; I’m far from unbiased. And Trip and May will work well together. I’ll have the two of them interview him and make the decision.”  Clint grabbed his phone and tucked it in his pocket. “Now come on and let’s get lunch. Have you told everybody yet? Once you make the announcement, there will be parties in the planning. Let’s sneak out now and get some of those good tacos down at the Mexican food market.”

* * *

“Okay, okay, I give. I’m enjoying the music,” Clint admitted.

 

Darcy grinned as she gyrated, dancing with abandon on the security platform; next to her, Skye had her hands up and was bouncing up and down. “Jenny’s got a body just like an hourglass and I’m taking my time, taking it slow,” they sang along together.

 

“Reminds me of the 80s.” Even Phil was nodding along to the song.

 

“We were lucky; booked Walk the Moon over a year ago, before ‘Shut Up and Dance’ hit the pop charts. I can’t believe we got Misterwives AND Sir Sly to open.” Darcy practically beamed in pride. “No way we can top this next year. Did you see the numbers? Sold out seats and the lawn in packed. We might even need a bigger venue!”

 

As Clint watched, the bodies pressed together became a wave of humanity, the beat of the music rolling across the outdoor amphitheatre in an undulating rhythm. It was almost hypnotic; his vision cleared and he saw pockets of people -- a group of girls with hands up,  three guys playing air guitar, a family with teenagers all dancing -- and the depth sharpened, perception widening to take in the whole of the hillside.

 

A movement by one of the electrical trailers caught his attention. Nate, shutting the door and guarding it. Cassie and Kate in deep conversation, cell phones in their hands, an argument about what to do.

 

“I’m going to check something out,” Clint told the others, the slightest motion with his head for Phil to join him. “Be right back.”

 

“Should I call Alan?” Darcy asked, a furrow between her brow. She wanted nothing to mar her perfect night.

 

“Nah, just can’t remember if I left the lights on in the car,” Clint lied, unwilling to admit this was just a gut level hunch.

 

Winding around the back of the stage took more time that Clint would have liked; by the time he got to the trailer, Kate and Cassie were gone, only Nate left on guard. His eyes widened when he saw the Sheriff and the Principal walking up to him; to his credit, he simply looked relieved and stepped aside.

 

“We didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “Kate and Teddy are still on lockdown at home; they slipped out to come to the concert.”

 

“They’ll have to take that up with their parents,” Clint said. “What’s going on inside?”

 

“It’s best if you see for yourself. I don’t know if I can explain it.” Nate tapped on the door; after a few seconds, Teddy’s face appeared in a small crack. “Sheriff Barton’s here,” Nate said.

 

“Oh, thank God. I don’t know what to do.” Teddy looked at them. “Tommy keeps trying to get out. Let me catch him first.”

 

The sound of footsteps, some swearing, a crash and then Teddy opened the door. “Hurry, he’s a squirmy little devil.”

 

In his arms was a white hare with long brown ears and brown splotches on his face. Almost two feet in length, the hare was squirming, thrashing its powerful hind legs and big feet to get free. Closing the door behind him, Clint felt a pang of sympathy for Teddy.

 

“Tommy, I take it?” he asked. “Of course he’d be a jackrabbit. That kid never slows down.”

 

“He’s being a …” Teddy lost his breath as Tommy rabbit punched him in the gut with his feet. “An asshole.”

 

“He wants to run,” Phil explained. “It’s a natural instinct after the first change. Here, let me talk to him.”

 

Phil picked Tommy up, his hands just under Tommy’s forelegs, the hind legs hanging free as Phil held him out. “Tommy,” he said in that alpha voice that made Clint’s knees go week.

 

Tommy thrashed a few more times and Phil spoke again. “Thomas Eric Shepherd, stop that right now.”

 

Tommy stilled.

 

“Now, listen to me. I know you want to run; trust me, I know. But you can’t do it here or you’ll get Kate and Teddy in trouble. You don’t want that do you?”

 

Black nose twitched and Tommy’s ears wiggled.

 

“Good. I promise you’ll get to run but first we’re going to get you and Billy somewhere safe then get Teddy and Kate home. You just have to hold on until then.  Got it?” Phil said.

 

Another twitch and wiggle then Phil brought Tommy in tight to his chest, stroking the jackrabbit’s soft fur.

 

“Where’s Billy?” Clint asked Teddy.

 

“Oh, he’s behind the computer display.” Teddy reached around and drew out a brown rabbit. Slightly smaller than Tommy, Billy had the distinct back feet of a snowshoe, his brown color a summer coat that would turn white in the winter. The rabbit snuggled into Teddy’s chest comfortably. “Billy’s pretty happy being held.”

 

“I can see that,” Clint said. “Okay, here’s the plan. We use the department SUV since it’s close and easy to get out; don’t know where you parked, Phil, but we’d have to go through crowd to get to the guest lots. We take these guys to my house and let them loose in Lucky’s play yard. Then we contact their parents and get this figured out. Do you have a car here?”

 

Teddy shook his head. “Cassie drove us all.”

 

They rounded up Nate and made their way to the security lot without incident, the crowd screaming as Walk the Moon launched into the big hit as a finale. Clint heaved a sigh of relief once they were on the road and safely away from being revealed.

 

“Okay, so these two jumped the gun. Has that ever happened before? People changing before they go up to the mountain?” Clint asked Phil. “Is this an aftereffect of being exposed to Marut?”

 

“That’s part of it, I’m sure,” Phil said. “But that’s not the big question. Neither Billy nor Tommy are part of one of the five families.”

 

“Wait. I thought Billy’s dad said he was a distant cousin of yours?” Clint still hadn’t figured out the intertwining family trees. “So that would make Billy a Coulson.”

 

“Billy’s adopted,” Teddy supplied from the back seat. “So’s Tommy, although he didn’t know it until a few years ago. Billy’s parents have always been really open with him; remember that big earthquake in Turkey? Billy was one of the orphaned babies that got adopted in the US. His parents kept a file with all the information so Billy would know about his heritage. Tommy’s adoption was sealed, but he knows his family went through the same lawyer as Billy’s parents.”

 

The answer seemed obvious to Clint, as crystal clear as his hawk eyesight. “Maybe they’re also descendents of the Watchers; we mixed everything together in that ritual. So, exposure plus genetic history plus being present that night?”

 

“Could be. I hope that’s the answer,” Phil said.

 

“Dude, does that mean I could be an armadillo? I want to be an armadillo!” Nate crowed.

 

“We don’t have those up here,” Teddy told him.

 

“Hey, I was born in Texas, I can be an armadillo,” Nate argued back.  

 

Doubt niggled in Clint’s mind, but he put it away.

* * *

“I had no idea there was so much junk stored up here,” Phil groused, rubbing his eyes with the corner of his bandana. They’d stirred up years of dust as they’d organized the boxes in the attic; sweat trickled down Clint’s chest bone and soaked the back of his thin t-shirt. Even the fan in the window couldn’t alleviate the hot air that collected under the eaves of the old Victorian. “I should just toss it right from the window into the dumpster.”

 

“You made me promise not to let you do that,” Clint reminded him. “Isn’t this why you never got around to cleaning up here in the first place?”

 

Phil sighed and sat down on a box of old newspapers. “It’s overwhelming. So much family and town history all jumbled together.”

 

“Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t we put it all in stacks and decide which ones you personally need to go through. The others we can carry downstairs or over to Miss DePriest’s to let the ladies of the historical society check out. They’d be thrilled to find old magazines from 1924. And those Sears and Roebuck catalogs? Probably give them chills.”  Clint shoved the box in question across the floor to an spot they’d already emptied. “Here’s newspapers and magazines. And we can put all those school board minutes with them.”

 

“Good. Yes. That will narrow the scope. And I don’t have to go through all the family boxes today. I can store some and work on them one at a time.” Phil stood back up and used his foot to move the box he was sitting on over with the other. “If it looks more organized, I’ll feel better.”

 

They worked for a solid two hours, Phil peeking inside various boxes and trunks and other storage bins, then marking them with a simple coding system of colors that he developed. Clint was the labor, picking up the lighter things and helping Phil move the larger ones. They stopped only for water breaks as they steadily made three distinct piles; one for the historical society, one for Phil, and one to throw away.

 

“I brought you some lemonade. It’s hot as hades up here and you’ve been at it a long time,” Maria said as she carried a pitcher and glasses into the room. She poured for each of them; Clint drank his in three long swallows, the cold, sweet liquid welcome relief. “Making progress, I see. Good. You can come help us downstairs by telling us what furniture you’re taking. The vultures are already descending; Mrs. Abrams is sketching out room arrangements.”

 

“Oh, God, I have no idea,” Phil moaned. “Clint’s place is furnished so beautifully; I hate to replace the designer stuff with my old things.”

 

“Hey, no,” Clint interrupted. “Phil, it’s going to be your place too. I want you to have your own things. Look, there’s that big empty room over the garage that just filled with boxes I haven’t unpacked yet. I planned on making it an office; we can easily fit two desks up there and even another bed. A pool table, maybe. There’s even storage under the eaves; you can put boxes in there.”

 

“I would like to keep my grandfather’s roll top desk.He used it when he was Superintendent,” Phil said.

 

“The Bradstreet? That’s a lovely piece of arts & craftsman style. I always thought it had to have secret compartments.” Maria poured herself a glass and set the pitcher down on top of an old trunk. “I loved when we’d have parties here; remember going through that secret crawlspace from the laundry room to the library?”

 

“If I recall right, Victoria hated the spiderwebs.” Phil smiled. “The desk was by the fireplace then.”

 

“Okay, so the desk goes. Honestly, Phil, there’s very few pieces I’m attached to. Let’s see, there’s the bed upstairs; I like the woodwork and the size. Fits the room, you know?” Clint said. “And the couch is really comfortable, as Phil can attest.”

 

“Much better than the davenport downstairs, that’s for sure,” Phil agreed. “The RCA phonograph, maybe. I used to play albums on Christmas morning; I think they’re still in the slot underneath. Even works or it did last time I checked. Thank God it was upstairs in Mom and Dad’s old room; didn’t get any damage from the fire.”

 

“A working record player? I’ve got at least two boxes of LPs I schlepped all the way out here because I couldn’t give them up. How big is it?” Clint asked.

 

“It’s more like a console or a narrow table. There’s storage on both sides.”

 

“Behind the couch? The glass table that’s there now isn’t very stable; Lucky’s almost knocked it over a couple of times. Would it fit there?” Clint thought about it.

 

“Yeah, I think it would look great there.” Phil’s face brightened. “Now we just have to decide what to do with my grandmother’s china.”

* * *

“That marshmallow is burnt,” Steve argued. “You’re the one who likes the taste of charcoal.”

 

“Oh, come on, they’re good this way,” Bucky replied, catching the marshmallow between graham crackers with chocolate and peanut butter.

 

“You just don’t have the patience to wait for them to brown,” Steve shot back, gently turning his stick over the edge of the coals. “And I’m not going to do it for you.”

 

“I’ll do that thing you like, you know, the one where …” Bucky whispered in Steve’s ear, and Steve’s face flushed bright red.

 

“Ah, young love,” Melinda said to Clint. “Bucky’s looking better. New job, new relationship … if anyone else is going to become a shifter, I’d lay 3-1 odds on him.”

 

“You think so?” Since the two boys had shifted at the concert, no one else had shown signs. “Wonder what he’d be? He’s stubborn as an ox, so maybe a buffalo? No wait, a randy mountain goat.”

 

“Long tailed weasel. White fur in the winter, can’t hardly see the bastards, sneaky and very deadly when they want to be. Catch one and train it, though, and it’s a loyal pet. Likes to curl up in warm places,” Melinda said. Clint raised an eyebrow at her answer. “What? I had one when I was a kid. Bit my hand more times that I want to remember before it accepted me. Kind of like most men I know.”

 

“And on that note, when are you going to settle down with someone?” Clint teased. He knew Melinda had been seeing one of the doctors at the hospital, a psychologist named Andrew who’d been dealing with the grieving families and surviving victims. “Everyone’s pairing off; better get in line.”

 

“Just because you and Phil are sickeningly sweet, doesn’t mean everyone has to be.” She nodded as Phil joined them on the deck, a fresh ice cold beer in his hand. “I’m fine on my own.”

 

“I wouldn’t use the term sweet for us. Would you, Clint?” Phil slipped an arm around Clint’s waist, steadying himself as Lucky and Peggy barrelled through the guests in chase of what looked like a squirrel in the trees.

 

“Hot and spicy would be better choices,” Clint agreed. Melinda rolled her eyes as she walked away.

 

“How about lucky, then?” Natasha asked. She stopped next to them and surveyed the party scene. “That’s what you are, you know. Lucky.”

 

“We had some help,” Phil replied quietly. Clint had told him his suspicions. “And it was much appreciated.”

 

“Yeah, well, nothing comes for free.” She twisted the beer bottle in her hand. “I’m heading off for a bit, got something I need to take care of.  Carol Altman’s agreed to run the place while I’m gone.”

 

Clint stared at her for a moment then asked the question. “Are you coming back?”

 

Her eyes got misty, and she seemed to look for the answer in the night sky. “Actually, yes, I think I am. Been awhile since I had a home.”

 

“Good. We’d miss you, but we’ll keep the light on” Clint told her. She gave him one of her rare smiles and wandered into the house.

 

The french doors stood wide open, creating an easy flow from house to the deck. A fire burned in the firepit, the night so bright they didn’t even turn on the electric lights. Food spilled over from the counter to dining room table, people grazing on the delicious variety all night long. Trip had a guitar and had conned Clint into singing at least one song with him. Maria laughingly refused to join in but both Darcy and Skye took a turn. Pepper was happy with Mary Wilson, chatting about people they knew. Tony, Mack and Leo were talking rockets; Fitz had seen a documentary on the Thailand Rocket Festival and wanted to start one around here. Thor and Jane were chatting with Jemma, Peter, and Mary Jane. Even Nick Fury had unwound and was sitting in jeans and a t-shirt, laughing at some story Jemma was telling. The teens had taken over the hot tub -- bathing suits were mandatory according to Phil’s rules.

 

“Good decision to have the party here this year,” Phil murmured in his ear. “But if they stay too late, I’m kicking them out. I’ve got plans for you.”

 

Clint shivered in the warm air. “You have my permission. I’ll get out the shovel if they need incentive.”

 

A loud explosion made him jump; above the house, a red, white and blue firework rained down.

 

“Where’s Wade?” Clint asked, looking around. “And Teddy and Billy?”

 

“I told them to go out front.” Phil took his hand and guided them to a seat on one of the benches. “Relax, it will be fine.”

 

“Fireworks!” Tony jumped up. “That’s what we need!”

 

As he ran around the corner of the house, Clint sighed. “Yep, it will be fine, he said. Famous last words.”

* * *

“I’m getting too old for this shit.”

 

Coyote spun around in Clint’s office chair, propped his feet on the desk and crossed his hands behind his head.

 

“Is this going to be one of those things? I thought it was a one time and done, but here you are,” Clint said, pull the door shut and closing the blinds. No need for everyone to see him talking to himself.

 

“Hey, a little respect here. I saved your ass,” Coyote said with a grin.

 

“I remember blowing to pieces; Natasha saved me,” Clint corrected. “Hell of a gift you gave me.”

 

“You’re dumber than you look.” Coyote chuckled. “Ain’t you figured it out yet? What makes you think the hawk is the gift?”

 

Clint stared at him, unable to frame any sort of response to that bombshell.

 

“Anyway,” Coyote continued, “thinking about a change. Been awhile since I did the human thing; Spider likes it a lot, but me, I usually can’t find anyone I’d hang my hat on. Needs to be someone who’d share with me and let me ride along. Who’s crazy enough for that?”

 

It was the mischievous grin that gave it away.

 

“Oh. No. No, no, no.” Clint shook his head, his heart dropping in his chest. “That’s the last thing we need around here. Wade’s eccentric enough as it is.”

 

“Exactly. Nobody’ll notice and he’s bound to say yes just for for the fun of it.” Coyote eyed Clint. “And I get to still bother you, so it’s a win all around.”

 

“Please. There’s only so much I can take before I haul off and hit Wade,” Clint practically begged. “You can’t come in here, drop two big bombs like than and just expect me to ...

 

The office was empty; Clint leaned over and bumped his head repeatedly against the wall.

* * *

Sparks from the campfire floated up into the darkness, dots of light that flared and slowly went out. The canopy of tree branches were like lace, breaking up the star filled night sky. Smoke floated up, the scent of pine mixing with the telltale whiff of carbon. Reclining on the sleeping bags, just at the edge of the warm circle, Clint crossed his arms behind his head and relaxed.

 

The food was bagged up and hanging from a tree branch, garbage in a separate bag on the same limb. They’d eaten out on the point, cold chicken and chips, far enough away to throw off the bears and other creature who might be drawn to the smell. A waterproof tarp provided ground cover, but they’d forgone the tent, the forecast for a mild rainless night. They’d hiked to the promontory, taking their time on the steep path; tomorrow they’d make their way along the ridge to what Phil promised was a secluded hot spring with a great view.

 

“You fall asleep?” Phil sank down next to Clint on the sleeping bags. “Here I thought I was the one huffing and puffing up the trail.”

 

“You ran me ragged,” Clint told him, tugging on Phil’s shoulders until he leaned down. “Don’t stop now.”

 

The first kisses were slow, deliberately easy and quiet. Hands still, bodies close, just lazy explorations of familiar contours. Between the kisses were the touches, drags of fingertips across cotton shirts, bare skin, scruffy jaws, and denim clad thighs. Clint knew every inch of Phil’s body, had traced every scar and mapped every freckle, and still just a bare inch of skin between waistband and shirt hem could take his breath away.

 

Out here there was no cellphone reception, no dogs jumping on the bed, no emergencies. They could take all the time they wanted on the journey, make a long climb to the edge. Murmur endearments against divots of skin. Watch the play of firelight across muscles. Spend half an hour without shirts, kissing each knob of spine. Lick toes and tickle feet. Work up to the back of the knees after jeans were gone. Tease with fingers, taste with tongue. Strokes first, mouth second. Slicking up and sliding in.  

 

Changing positions, both sitting up, Phil’s hands around his waist as Clint rode him. Phil laving his nipples as Clint’s head fell back, staring up at the sky. Digging his toes in, digging his fingers into Phil’s hair, and taking him over, feeling Phil tense and then go lax, forehead falling to Clint’s chest as he sagged against him. Phil finishing him off, come streaking Phil’s chest and hitting his bowed chin. Slowly easing to the ground, Phil gathering Clint in his arms and both of them listening to their heartbeats slow.

 

“Phil?” Clint pushed up on his elbows.

 

“Yes?” Phil answered.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

They slept deeply and peacefully, wrapped in each other’s arms, snuggled together. Clint dreamed he was flying, so high he passed through thin clouds, the ground little more than a colorful quilt spread out to cover the Earth. From here, he could see the future, sun mixed with storms, long summer days and cold winter nights. He saw others, south, north, east, and west, across the ocean, and past the equator, each one with a glint in their eyes and a flash in their hearts. What was coming and what might be, the forks in the path and the choices to be made.

 

But all that was for later. He circled down to the wolf who waited, nipping at his ears and flipping in a circle as he flew away. For now, the two of them danced between trees and sky, entwined and together. And that was enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My daughter who is very into the Young Avengers picked out the animals for Tommy, Billy, and Teddy. Kate was always going to be a hawk. 
> 
> Yes, this means that other people can become shifters as well. I wrote myself a big loop hole there. And Clint's gift from Coyote ... well, Clint Barton always did see better than others. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this. I really loved writing it. So much so that my muse has taken a vacation for the last few days for some well earned rest. Cocktails on a beach do sound really good right about now.
> 
> I was very good and avoided the "wolves and hawks mate for life" line. I think I used that in another story somewhere once anyway. But they do.


	13. A Guide to the Characters in "A Wolf in the Fol"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting around to posting the character list for this story. Want to know who's who and how they're related? Check here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> characters are listed by family and/or groups. Their animal forms are in parentheses, their Marvel name in italics and the movie/show/comic in bold. :)

**Reference Guide to “A Wolf in the Fold”**

 

Clint Barton (Ferruginous Hawk) _Hawkeye_ **_The Avengers_ **

 

 **WARDS** (Rulemakers; power)

Anthony Ward & Wife **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **

Christian Ward _U. S. Senator_ **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **

Grant Ward _H.Y.D.R.A. agent_ **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **

Thomas Ward (Snowy Owl) **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **

© Bruce Banner (Grizzly Bear) _Hulk_ **_The Avengers_ **

 

 **BISHOPS** (Leader; money)

Derek Bishop **_Young Avengers_ **

Kate Bishop (Red Tailed Hawk) _Hawkeye_ **_Young Avengers_**

© Bruce Banner (Grizzly Bear) _Hulk_ **_The Avengers_ **

 

 **COULSONS** (Teacher: Survival)

Phil Coulson (Timber Wolf) **_The Avengers_ ** _ & _ **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **

© Virginia “Pepper” Potts (Red Fox)   **_CEO of Stark Industries, Iron Man, The Avengers_ **

 

 **HILLS** (Warrior: to protect)

Maria Hill (Bobcat) _Assistant Director of S.H.I.E.L.D._ _ & _**_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._**

 ****Melinda May (Cougar) ** _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._**

© Steve Rogers (Bighorn Sheep) **_The Avengers_ **

© Nick Fury _Director of S.H.I.E.L.D._ **_The Avengers_ ** _ & _ **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

© Kate Bishop (Red Tailed Hawk) _Hawkeye_ **_Young Avengers_**

 

 **WILSONS** (to be strong)

Mary Wilson _OC_

Antoine Tripplet (Stag/Buck) **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

© Sam Wilson (Peregrine Falcon) _The Falcon_   ** _Captain America &_** **_The Avengers_**

© Alphonso “Mack” Mackenzie (Moose) **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

© Wade Wilson (Wolverine) **_Deadpool_ **

 

**High School**

Theodore “Teddy” Altman (brown bear) _Hulkling_ **_Young Avenger_** _s_

William “Billy” Kaplan (snowshoe rabbit) _Wiccan_ **_Young Avengers_**

Cassandra Lang _Stature_ **_Young Avengers_ **

Thomas “Tommy” Shepherd  (jack rabbit) _Speed_ **_Young Avengers_**

Nathaniel “Nate” Richards _Iron Lad_ **_Young Avengers_ **

Assistant Principal Victoria Hand **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

Leo Fitz, Physics **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

Jemma Simmons, Biology & Forensics **_Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

 

**Sherriff’s Station:**

Darcy Lewis, office manager, _Jane Foster’s research assistant,_ **_Thor_**

Skye/Daisy, computers, _Quake_ ** _Agents_** ** _of S.H.I.E.L.D_ **

Alan Quartermaine, officer, _long time SHIELD agent in the_ **_comics_ **

Joe Donovan, retired sheriff, _OC_

 

**Reporters:**

Ben Ulrich _Reporter for Daily Bugle in_ ** _Daredevil_** **_& Comics_**

Peter Parker **_Spiderman_ **

Jessica Drew _Spiderwoman,_ **_Avenger in the Comics_ **

 

**Lawyer:**

Jennifer Walters _She-Hulk,_ **_Avenger in the Comics_ **

 

**New York friends:**

Luke Cage **_Luke Cage & The Defenders_ **

Jessica Jones **_Jessica Jones & The Defenders _ **

Matt Murdock **_Daredevil & The Defenders_ **

Bobbi Morse, _Mockingbird_ **_Avenger in the comics_ **

 

**Others**

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, _Winter Soldier,_ **_Captain America & Civil War_ **

Thor **_Avengers_ **

Dr. Jane Foster, veterinarian _Astrophysicist,_ **_Thor_ **

Tony Stark **_Iron Man_ **

Hank Pym **_Antman & Civil War_ **

Janet Van Dyne _Wasp_ **_Avenger in the Comics_ **

Natasha Barton _Black Widow_ **_The Avengers_ **

 

© = cousins

 _OC_ = original character

(shape they shift into)

_Marvel job/pseudonym_

**_Marvel film, show, comic_ **


End file.
